Yvi

More adventures with my faithful partner in porn. We actually wrote this incredibly fast a little over a month ago, but then I moved and things got busy on both our ends for a while.


Title: Permutations [part 1/4]
Authors: nakeno and recrudescence
Fandom: Firefly
Pairings: Mal/Simon/Jayne and all combinations thereof
Rating: R this part, NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: Don’t own ’em, making no profit off ’em, etc.
Word Count: 8,511

Notes: Takes place immediately after Safe.

Summary: Jayne steals pajamas, Simon gets drunk, and Mal sits on a tack. There is also sex in abundance.




When Simon gets to his room after Serenity leaves Jiangyin a second time, he notices something's amiss. Add on Jayne’s halting greeting beforehand, and it doesn’t take much.

"You folded my shirts wrong," he points out casually, catching sight of Jayne skulking outside his door later on.

"You got snatched by hill folk!" Like it's all Simon's fault. Then, slitting his gaze contemplatively. "Are you partial to them... shiny pajamas?"

"No more so than any other pair of pajamas.” Narrowing his eyes right back, very slowly. “Did you want a pair?"

"I want them pair. Since it's all the same to you."

"Er. No. But, just out of curiosity, why?" Simon’s not sure he wants to know, really.

Wrong thing to say, since Jayne just marches right in and snatches the pair in question. “What's it to you?

Simon snags hold. “I get kidnapped and you think you're entitled to ransack my personal belongings? Am I missing something?"

"Wait now-- you just said you didn't want 'em. No take-sy-back-sies, doc, now; that ain't nice."

"No, I said I wasn't particularly partial to them, and that certainly doesn't mean I'm obligated to give them to you. Why are we arguing over this again?"

“Kaylee’s got a birthday comin’ up.” And Simon’s ready to ask what makes him the go-to person for a present when Jayne clutches that shirt in his hands more fiercely and leans close, conspiratorially. "Does the captain even know how many times he bends over...a day?"

Reading diaries. Simon really shouldn’t have put it past him, not that he knows much about Jayne’s ability to read. "If you read my follow-up records, fine. Confidential records, I might add," frowning sternly. "That's patient information and you’re free to interpret it however you like." Tugtugtug, no loosening Jayne's hold on the pajamas, and he honestly doesn't even want them now because he won't be able to wear them again without thinking of this...still, it's the principle of not giving in.

"Seems the captain’s got more’n his fair share of the attention in your…records. 'The best view absolutely has to be in the kitchen, when he's digging around in the under compartments for something that isn't protein, only to find more protein,'" Jayne minces in what Simon assumes is supposed to be an imitation of his voice. Jayne tilting his head up, with that open-mouth smirk like someone's just told a dirty joke that he understood.

"I have records of other crew members' injuries and vital statistics as well; it helps to have a hard copy as well as virtual in case of emergencies." Is he really explaining himself? To Jayne? Who’s trying to extort pajamas out of him by reading between the lines of medical records? When did he get so optimistic?

Jayne actually looks confused for a second before smirking all over again. “Riiiight." Tugtugtug. "Gimme. Else the captain’s findin’ out just how dedicated your records on him really are."

He is not keeping a tally of how many times anyone bends over, but he's not about to stand around debating the points of follow-up exams with Jayne either. Or admitting anything at all having to do with Mal. "Believe whatever makes you feel better. If you don't mind, it's been a long day." Letting go and crossing his arms firmly over the pants; if Jayne wants to run off and do God knows what with the shirt, maybe that'll keep him satisfied and out of Simon's hair.

Jayne pauses, stares for a second, then winks. "Nice doing business with you, doc-- might wanna keep your diary in a better spot, though."

Simon can only hope Jayne wasn't sitting in there salivating over the results of River's physical evals. Cringe at that and go back to folding his things.

And Jayne grins and walks out of the room. Kaylee's getting one half of a pair of pajamas. Not too bad.


--


When Simon runs into Kaylee later in the week, she's wearing the top over her coveralls and he's incredibly confused for a second. Then she insists on him wearing the bottom half and making Jayne take a capture of them together, which is so very Kaylee and so very ridiculous.

It results in Kaylee looking intensely proud and Simon looking vaguely uncomfortable, the two of them in a divided-up set of pajamas while Jayne just snickers away. River looking back and forth between Simon and Kaylee, blinkblinking. On a bad day, that sight might make her upset.

Mal just walking by, casually, "Make sure one of you is all he gets. No keepsakes.” And he covers his rear with both hands and keeps walking.

Simon closes his eyes in exasperation and proclaims, "They were physicals," to anyone who will listen. Couldn't Jayne at least have gone through his encyclopedia instead?

“I'm watching you!” Mal pointing his fingers at his eyes, then pointing them at Simon, looking way too amused about it all.

"Fine, I'll stop keeping records, but you'll regret it." Trying to sound intimidating even though he's wearing half a set of pajamas paired with his dress shirt. Not that he would actually stop—data is vital—but no one else wants to believe it, so why start now?

"If I want my ass watched, I've got Zoe," Mal cheerily declares over his shoulder.

"I--give up." He’s keenly aware of Jayne looking on with wide, interested eyes, trying to keep a straight face. Beside him, River recites Mal's BMI, blood pressure, and heart rate like an afterthought.

Since he can think of no better tactic, Simon just tries to ignore Jayne and compliments Kaylee awkwardly on the pajama top. Which makes her smile so very much. So maybe some good came of it. He just hopes no one needs medical attention for a little while. For all Simon cares, everyone can do their own physicals. And bullet-hole repairing. And...whatever insane injuries happen next.


--


He’s getting awfully bored waiting for the joke to run its course. Cooped up in Serenity with nothing to do but make their own fun, it’s clear that resources are wearing thin. It’s just annoying at this point, people coming by to poke fun at him, complaining that someone put a tack on their chair and would he mind taking a look?

The Mal stomps into the infirmary, limp-grumbling. “No, honest, someone put a tack in my gorram chair.”

One time too many. Simon doesn’t believe him for an instant. But Mal doesn’t grin and stride away, just scowls and undoes his belt, muttering, "Fine. Take a look.”

Simon blinks.

"I mean it! Go right ahead."

"Have Jayne do it. I think he wants to learn." Simon rolling his eyes as River comes peering inquisitively through the doorway.

Mal, snip-snapping at her face peeking in, "Didn't say you could!" Shutting the door and shucking down his suspenders when Simon makes the standard "pants down" gesture.

"If you're recording this somehow..." muttering and hoping that this isn't part of yet another practical joke.

"That's a mite unseemly, doc." Huffing theatrically and turning around.

He pretends not to hear that. "Let’s get it over and done with: come on."

Glancing over, Mal snorts. "Next time you and Jayne pool your wardrobes, leave me out of it."

"I didn't even wa-- you.... you actually sat on a...?" It's too ridiculous. Far too ridiculous. Probably one of Wash’s pranks. The snapping of a glove.

Which makes Mal wince a little, really. "Yes. I sat on a something that gives you a legitimate reason to examine the point of entry; may we proceed?"

Snapping of that same glove right back off. "Barely needs examining." A bit of antibiotic salve. A quick booster shot. Nothing big. Still. On the amusement end? If he were less of a gentleman...

Mal frowns at him. "So, were they actually follow-up whatchamacallits or were you really keeping detailed records of every time I bent over? It's things like this that can make or break a man's ego, doctor." Though he'd like to think he would have noticed being followed and...written up on like that. He is going on Jayne's information here.

Simon's head drops, his hand to his face, rubbing before he looks up, very deadpan. "Details of every stitch on your very tight pants, every time you bent over." More or less slam the injection gun back in the drawer. "That make you feel better? Pull 'em up." Clear his throat. "Pull them. Pull them up." He's spending way too much time on this damn ship.

"They are not that tight. They're comfortable and they're functional. More than can be said for some," casting a glance down at Simon's own pressed gray slacks. Wonder in passing if he actually irons or if they're just...made like that. Crack a smile and do his belt back up as he adds, "Let me have a look at what other kinds of pajamas you've got and maybe we can work out a trade."

"Pretty tight." Shoot the other a dry look, "Out."

Opening up the door and, as he leaves. "No more pointy things on sittable surfaces." And letting it close behind him again.

Simon’s hip against the exam table, arms folded over his chest. "Right."

Next time he has a chance, he's getting a pair of practical pajamas. And possibly drunk.


--


Months later, once they’ve picked up a drop on Athens, he’s making true on the latter and trying not to feel sorry for himself. Ever since Canton, he knows better than to drink much around Kaylee or else everyone gets the wrong idea, though at least that’s one misunderstanding that’s bought him some cover. Simon’s been careful around Mal, letting him believe what he wants about his designs on the mechanic and giving no indication of any other inclinations. It won’t do to have Jayne or anyone else start speculating, though it’s been getting harder and harder to keep himself in check. River shakes her head at him sometimes.

Just a matter of time before he gives something away, which is why it's definitely better to be drinking alone than with, say, Mal. Until Jayne plops down next to him, suddenly making that option seem much better.

Bringing up all kinds of tasteful subjects, of course. "So, ‘bout your sister. When y'snuck her out...weren't you worried someone might, I dunno, do somethin' to her? I mean, it's a naked, drugged-up girl and all…"

Simon drinks so he doesn’t have to answer.

Eventually, Jayne takes a hint and the conversation somehow gets turned to Mal, which is preferable.

"Well... he asked about the pants…I told him... told ‘im every stitch and he... smiled and just..." Simon makes little legs from his fingers—kind of jerkily, considering the amount of alcohol—walking away.

"'s sensitive subject, ever since he had that duel." Jayne nodding knowledgably and knocking back another shot.

"His... wait... what?" Squinting. The bar is dim as it is, but when his vision starts blurring...

Jayne goes lounging back in his seat, watching the screen flickering over the bar for a minute before eyeing the doctor's rather idiotic expression. "Lil' Kaylee called him out on it, that time on Persephone. Tight pants."

"Oh. Ohhh. I... didn't... know that. Why would I-- how... h-how do you even know that?" Swallowing heavily, then blinking rapidly.

"Kaylee ain't afraid to talk to me. Prob'ly figured you wouldn't be interested in hearin' that kind of thing." Leering, because he can't help himself and because the doc seems to be on a fast track to shitfaced. "’Course, I know she was wrong about that now."

"Yes, well..." Pointing, pausing... dropping his hand altogether, slowly. "I've... n-no response... to that."

Which is a shame, really, but the way the doc's leaning on the table and looking a lot like some kind of broken mannequin is just as interesting. Looks almost normal now, eyes trying to focus on God knows what. Jayne suspects it's his face, but he can't be sure. "So, how much've you had now?"

Both hands up, splayed over his vest, straightening then slumping, "Too... much. Much too much." Frown down at Jayne's glass, "How much have.... oooh. Oh! Hah... haha, no." Pointing at the other. "IIIII don't think so. Nope."

Whatever's so funny about that, Jayne doesn't quite get it. The place is starting to look a little hazy to his eyes, anyway. Another slow drink. Not as if they're in any rush. "'m not gonna make you buy me none. I've got no designs on your wallet." He pocketed some of the credits from Simon's suitcase a while back, after Jiangyin, but that information can go unsaid.

"S'probably because...I already... bought you some." Clasp his cup and he gets distracted halfway through, mouth open in a slackjawed, curious sort of way. "Why...what... are you..." Pause, cover his mouth for a second before continuing. "Why are you... over here for anyway?"

All right, maybe keeping it unsaid didn't matter. Still. "Same's you, looks like. Done our business, take some time to knock back some swill and feel your feet on the ground again." Judiciously, "If y'can." Snort into his glass and finish it off.

Close one eye, "Right... but... but," hold up a finger. "We're on that... damn little... ship for months, and now you're gonna... sit next to me voluntarily? You want somethin'. Something. Something." Simon's brow goes all crumpled, eyes squeezing shut as he rubs at his face-- most of which he can't feel. Abruptly, as if he's forgotten the question altogether: "Does he hate me...? Really? I mean... I mean, I'm not that... th-that bad of a person, am I?" Bring his glass to his mouth, carefully.

"Already got you buyin' me drinks, like you so intelligently said, so whatever could that be?" Roll his eyes when the doc starts talking over him, tone of voice gone from probing to pitiful in the space of a second. Drunken mood swings. Maybe he should've stayed with Wash and Zoe instead. "You're askin' me this why?" Grin widely, just for the hell of it. "'s all about the company you keep, isn't it?"

Blink, staring at the other as if he just now realized who, exactly, he's speaking to. A small grunt and Simon just buries his face in his cup. If it comes off as an insult, it's meant to. Drain it, lick his lips, and drain it again-- just for good measure. "Dunno. Just thought... you've... y'know, known him longer. Maybe... it gets easier." A shrug. "Better. Something."

Jayne goes about neatly sweeping the empty thing out of those fishbelly-pale hands. "No sulking. You wanna question the captain, you can hunt him out and do it." The doc seems half-ready to fall asleep, so, "Maybe not immediately." Waitwaitwaitwait. "Easier?" A few things are starting to fit together, for all the alcohol's trying to send them swimming apart.

"That," hold up his finger, then grasp the bar, getting to his feet-- slowly. One before the other and all. "Th-that is a good idea--" He pauses, blinking at Jayne before smiling. Slap him on the shoulder. "Good idea, Jayne-- whoa, I didn't think I'd ever be saying those wo-" Pause, realize he's saying that last bit out loud and slowly pull his hand back. Wiping it on his vest. Just in case.

"Gorramit, you are going to fall on your pigu and I ain't totin' you back to the ship. Hear?" Simon and standing aren't going to mix any better than whatever tonic he's been moping into half the night. Clamp a hand on one of those shoulders, after getting batted on one of his own, and apply pressure, get him to sit back down before... something happens Jayne doesn't want to be around for. "Talkin' ain't your best trick tonight, seems like, so you might as well wait a spell." Not that it matters to him if he makes a fool of himself, really, unless he gets to watch while it happens.

"I'm not gonna fa-- I'm fall--" No, he isn't. He's just being... seated. Again. Clasp hold of the bar, frowning. "Talking is not... a trick... to begin with."

"Can't walk two steps, but still semanticizin'. That's a good trick." Sit there in silence for a few minutes, though the girls onscreen have gotten exponentially more blurry than before and he can tell Simon is fretting there at his side like some kind of over-pampered pet that hasn't had its walk. Make sure his glass is well and truly emptied, then shove to his own feet. "'m goin' back. Comin'?"

"Yes." Nod twice, because it is Jayne he's addressing, and try that whole getting to his feet thing again. It doesn’t go much better than the first attempt and he ends up getting toted along like an overgrown puppet, a hand fisted around the back of his shirt and vest. All the while trying to swat his hands back, making faces. "I can do it! I can--"

"'s this what watchin' your sister all the time's like?" Grimacing when Simon totters into him and almost sends the both of them onto the ground. "I just might have an inkling of respect for that." At least this Tam's too buttoned-up and too sloshed to hack at him with a kitchen knife. Was buttoned-up until a few hours ago, anyway. Definitely doesn't look the part now.

"River is..." He wants to go on about how brilliant she is. That none of this is her. That he just doesn't understand. Instead, he ends up putting his arm around Jayne, the other grasping at his front because suddenly he feels like he's going to be sick. Everywhere.

He did not sign on to listen to the pretty-boy doctor spill his innermost thoughts, although truth be told he'd prefer that to getting sprayed with the contents of his stomach. Simon pitches against him, mouth ominously open, and Jayne's first impulse is to try and peel him off. "Oh, hey--hey. No." When that doesn't work, he just grits his teeth and wraps an arm around all that posh, rumpled material and does he best to hold him in a stationary position, which leaves him hunched over a bit with his nose shoved into that messy, clean-smelling hair. "You are not spewin’ anything on me. You're a doctor; y'should know better."

"Can't hel--" Can't even get his apologies out. No time. Here he is, on some dusty back road, turning himself inside out in four or five good heaves and then that's it. That's all she wrote. Simon tugging a handkerchief out of somewhere, dab-wiping at his mouth, coughing. "Mm..."

Jayne screws up his face, but he has some sympathy for drunken idiocy and doesn't let the man drop face-first into his own vomit. "Come on," sighing heavily and resuming the half-dragging lurch they'd been working on before. Get them both inside the ship with minimal stumbling and noise-making, toy for a second with the idea of pushing Simon towards the captain's quarters instead of his own.

"M'better. Much, actually." Clear his throat some as it’s rather hoarse now. "Don't know why... I didn't do that sooner." Reach up and smooth at his hair where Jayne had tickled it with his face.

Trundle through the kitchen. Jayne downs some water himself, shoves a glass at the doc like he has no other choice. "Glad to hear it," sanctimoniously. Now would be a good moment to snap a shot of him, all wrinkled and mussed-up as he is.

Simon smiles slowly at Jayne before picking up the glass of water: one hand first, then, after spilling some, both. Just to be sure. Grimace after the first swallow, from the sting it brings up at the joints of his jaws. "No. You're not. But, I appreciate you... even pretending."

Shrug and lean back, stretching both arms over his head. No one else is around and the doc's infinitely more tolerable when he's showing actual proof of being normal. Snort slightly, "If you're still in a dumping mood, I can get the shepherd."

"No... nooo." Wave that whole idea aside. Literally. Hand flapping. "Was just... you know, it's just..." Feeling indignant now. "Just because I don't get shot at... all the time... doesn't mean I wouldn't like for someone to, y'know," a heavy swallow of water, to get that taste out of his mouth, "ask how I am... once in a while."

Jayne's ready to get to his feet at that, thinking maybe he should've had that last drink after all. Weather it through, what with Simon's little speech in the infirmary not long ago still in the back of his head. Shrug a shoulder, sprawl out in his seat. "Don't seem to let on like you do. 'sides, I'm gonna guess you feel like go se about now anyway, so no sense in wastin' a question."

"Well, everyone does." Give the other a stern look before Simon breaks in a smile, then a giggle, then full-blown drunken laughter. That's quelled only when the good doctor remembers he can't breathe and drink water in the same go.

"Quit lickin' your wounds and go to bed. I'll leave a note for Kaylee, have her make sure to ask how you feel when you get up." This punctuated by enthusiastic back-slapping all throughout.

Grimace and pull away, shoulders hunched, "Stooop!" A little too loud, maybe.

"My fault." Affect a concerned expression, face straight once more, hands laced earnestly on his lap. "How are you?"

Simon takes a page from his sister's book and sticks his tongue out. Jayne’s okay with that. If Simon can whinge and titter like any regular human being, that's a good sign in his eyes. And just sort of hilarious to watch.

"You're right... I should probably..." Slide from the table, if a bit unsteadily. "Go to bed... m'gonna feel like... like hell in the morning."

Jayne rolls his eyes, considers dashing some of his water in that ruefully smiling face. Probably do him good, anyway. "Yeah, you really are." Head tilting as Simon lists to one side, having a go at the standing-up game again. "You gonna...make it all right?"

"Yes." More than a touch haughtily. "I can d--" Take a second to figure out why his chair isn't going in when he pushes it. "...Do it."

Unconvinced, Jayne gets to his feet with a grunt--make a show of walking as straight as he can, just to rub it in. "Good to know." Clap him on the back one more time, just to see what happens.

Simon’s mouth stretches slowly, patting the back of the chair and picking up his glass. Take another swallow. "Captain Tight Pants. Mm. He... he sat on a tack, y'know." Eyebrows high, staring down into the water going sloshsloshslosh, going in for another swallow before he choke-cries. "Jayne!" Only his voice has gone up waaay too many octaves and he makes a go at sounding more manly rather than a disgruntled child. "Jayne. If... you please."

For some reason, that doesn't surprise Jayne at all. "He's sat on worse, I'm dead sure," not bothering to tamp down a huff of laughter when Simon's voice unwittingly does a fair impression of Kaylee's. "If I please what?"

Turn his head to give him a pursed-mouth glare. "Please... stop hitting me." Now, suddenly, Simon looks distrusting, "Did you put that tack there...? Did you?" From glaring to grinning in the span of a few heartbeats. "Did you?"

Hitting? He's on the verge of scornfully saying that out loud; Simon's seen him hit people before, thank you. "I'm not the one cultivating an interest in his hind parts."

"Wow... y-you said 'cultivating.'" A half of a bleary smile before Simon looks down in his cup. "But... then you said 'hind parts'... so..."

"And I think this is called deflecting, right?" He's fairly sure, anyway.

"Good, good, mm!" Cut off because he's taking a chug of water. "Wait…what was the question?" He's still a little fuzzy on that part.

"You still wantin' to rut with the captain after all this time." Watch carefully, make sure Simon doesn't choke again.

"Oh." Frown down into his water. It's mostly gone now. Pity. Squint a little suspiciously at Jayne, "That was a question...?" Which is harder than it sounds, seeing as how there's two of him. One of Jayne is enough under normal circumstances...

"Now, I won't say drunk and willing is a bad look on you, but the spouting-up-your-dinner thing probably ain't about to win you any prizes." Quirk a smile as Simon stares at him with eyes and mouth gone wide.

Try to look affronted. Though, he's probably coming off looking more like a brain-dead fish. "Huh. Didn't notice that you... uh... noticed." Stare down at himself. "Would you...?"

Blink. "Hm?"

"Rut. With me. That is." Hold up a hand. "Not that I'm asking... I'm just..." make a gesture with said hand, "Asking..." There. That’s sure to clear it up. Which brings up another thing. "Do... do you have to use the word 'rut' anyway?"

Jayne’s mouth goes partway open and no words come out; he probably looks as stupid as Simon does, only not as pretty. "You...have one you prefer?" Hearing the word come out of the doc’s mouth is kind of odd, not that he's disapproving. "And right this second, hell no." Waving one hand vaguely, wrinkling his nose. "Spouting-up-your-dinner thing and all, and you not bein' able to stand hardly."

"I dunno... 'sleep with?' 'Sex?' Have intercourse, make love, be intimate--" Sniff self-importantly. "There's... lots of ways to say it." Sway some; he'd gotten too occupied in watching Jayne's hand go back and forth. Hiccup. Just once. Covering his mouth as he does so. "Wh-what about... y'know... not... spouting-up-your-dinner… thing?"

"That's more agreeable, having intercourse," mimicking Simon's Core-perfect diction as stuffily as he can, "with someone who ain't halfway to passin' out or chuckin' up their stomach on you."

Slap vainly out at Jayne's chest, "Just you... shut up." Sniff, stepping to the side unsteadily; his face makes abrupt contact with the other's chest, making him groan.

It's an enthralling show, watching him try to keep his composure and lose every time. Standing and moving still seem a bit beyond Simon's capabilities, so Jayne takes hold of his shoulders and bodily turns him to face the stairs. "Could say the same to you." Start down them on his own, then glancing over his shoulder, having second thoughts about leaving the doc to manage this particular obstacle on his own.

He sees Jayne's doubtful glance over his shoulder. One hand to his hip, the other coming up to hold aloft a finger. "Coming... m'... m'coming."

"Like hell..." Scraping that face off the floor isn't on his agenda for the night either. Reach back, hook an arm around that waist, noticing Simon's nice white shirt is partially untucked by now.

Just lean into it. Hell with it. "Mm." Tilt his head in, eyes closing before he realizes he actually has to be conscious in order to move one foot in front of the other and pulling it up, blinking down at said feet and mumbling, "Ready, ready. Not far now."

"Ai ya, I know how to get there," gruffly. "Though," eyeing Simon with some trepidation, "I wasn't plannin' on it takin' quite so long." What's the worst that could happen if he just grabbed him up and toted him, anyway? More whining and hollering? Simon seems to be ready to fall asleep on him as it is.

"Okay, then... let's... let's go," making a gung-ho motion with his arm, but not yet moving his feet, lifting his head to blink up at Jayne curiously.

Screw this. Jayne just grunts in annoyance and drags him down the stairs like he's a sack of vest-wearing flour. He winds up carrying Simon over his bunk’s threshold and of course River is there to murmur a “congratulations” before wandering dreamily out of her brother’s room.

Jayne dumps him off in his bunk and he promptly passes out. "Oh, yeah. That's hot." He only pauses for a second to contemplate leaving a “thanks for last night” note before snorting and clumping away.


--


Late the next morning, Simon wakes up with his head pounding, his hair sticking up all over the place, still dressed--shoes on, even. Ohgod. Creeping towards the showers, trying not to wince every time he takes a step and hoping no one sees him like this. Get cleaned up, get a glass of water, get medicated.

River passes him in the hallway afterward and asks when the honeymoon is. He isn’t awake enough to be terrified.

Threads of conversation from the cargo bay. Mal: "Why am I short a medic?"

Jayne: "He's... uh... sick. Of himself. I think."

"Bound to happen eventually."

“That it is.” Then his eyes light on Simon and he starts guffawing. It's not fair. How can Jayne drink himself stupid and then pop up like a freshly bloomed daisy the next day?

“I heard that, you know.” It doesn’t sound quite as steady as Simon had hoped.

"Captain's concerned for you," Jayne says solemnly, lips twitching.

"Let me die in peace..."

"No need to be so dramatic."

"Shhhh."

He cuts down on the laughing. Somewhat. The look of absolute agony on the doc's normally calm face isn't helping much. "Haven't you doctored yourself for this yet?"

"M'going... to the..." One hand to clutch the head, the other to make motions toward the infirmary. If Jayne’s awful at charades, it isn't his problem. And River had made another comment about honeymoons and getting carried over the threshold, which makes him suspect the worst. He didn't...get married, did he? One crew member doing that had been quite enough.

Jayne just goes right back to snickering, half at Simon and half at Mal's expression at what was once his medic.

"My God, he isn't infallible. My illusions are shattered. We'll never recover."

At least there's no unfamiliar woman claiming to be his wife, so that's a good sign. Simon carefully turns enough to glare.

"I bet he puked-- Jayne, did he puke?"

"Oooh, captain, did he ever." Jayne, of course, remembers it all and would be chronicling it all in a fancy diary of his own if that were his ilk.

Simon just scowling at everyone, since that’s the only thing that doesn’t hurt. "I'll be...sleeping, if anyone needs anything."

Mal's face all crinkled with a grin before making a gesture at Jayne, "Make sure he gets a hair, Jayne. It'll do him some good. Besides, if the doc's gonna drink like a man-- best get used to not wailing like a babe the next day. Else, he ain't going to be much good to any of us." And, of course, the captain has to give Simon a good clap on the back before going on. The bastard.

Jayne shoulders on by. "Relax. Not like it was your ass." And winks.

Simon would frown. If it didn't hurt his face so damn much. All he can think about is heading to the infirmary, then falling into bed all over again and letting the drugs do their work.


--


It’s too good a story to keep to himself. When he finds Book and Kaylee fixing lunch, Jayne helpfully spills all the details on Simon's drunken indiscretions. Aside from the part about rutting with the captain. Just...because. The preacher won’t want to hear that and Kaylee sure as hell doesn’t need to either.

Kaylee, who takes it upon herself to sneak into the doc’s room in order to leave him a plate, then comes pattering back into the kitchen, giddy and giggly.

"Jayne! He's in there with those pants on that match the top you gave me and his hair's all messy and he's not wearing a shirt!” All bouncy and disbelieving. Like she's discovered some entirely new species.

Jayne grunts. "So? Seen that... plenty of times.”

"Y'have not. He's very...shy." Smiling like it's sweet or something.

Clearly the man needs to let loose, so Jayne might take it upon himself to aid the process, as it were. Maybe get the rest of those pajamas, just 'cause. He can present them to Kaylee later, watch her die of a heart attack.

As a result, when Simon wakes up for the second time that day he’s wearing nothing but a sheet and devoutly hopes he's still dreaming. "What in the..." Stalking after Jayne once he's presentable and actually capable of stalking. "You...you!"

"Knew a guy named Yew-Yew once; weren't never to hard to remember what to call 'im."

Lowering his voice to a furious hiss, not caring how ridiculous the accusation sounds. "You took. my. pants. Who does that, Jayne?"

Shoulders up and then dropped, "Well, it weren't me!"

“After all the enthusiasm you expressed for the top half a while back, you expect me to believe that?" Knocking himself out for a few hours was supposed to have been a respite for any more grief, not an invitation to get his clothes stolen off him in his sleep.

Stare. Okay. He's caught, but. Slump his shoulders, "Aw, c'mon, doc; Kaylee was about to pee herself." When in fail, blame it on the mechanic. Seemed to work for Mal...

"Tell me, do you manhandle crew members in their sleep often?" Press a hand to his forehead, waiting for the morning's headache to flow right back again. "You could have just demanded I hand them over, maybe threatened and extorted a little, same as you did with the shirt. When I was awake, by the way."

"Well, this way there weren't no fuss. 'Sides, weren't like I ran off and told the captain nothing." Jayne's the sort who thinks he should be thanked for things he doesn't do.

"Do you know how it feels to wake up in your own room in a different condition than you were when you fell asleep in it? Notably, clothed?" Bad phrasing; Jayne's probably been in dozens of comparable situations and can't understand why Simon’s pitching a fit.

"Uh..." Like maybe it's a trick question.

"I mean it." Pacing like that's going to make things better.

"...Yes?"

All right, he'd sort of expected that. "Then why in God's name do it?" Staring down at Jayne while he can, before the man decides to stand up and start... posturing like he does when he's feeling cornered.

"It was funny." Reaching up to itch the side of his face, muttering, "At the time..." Like kicking in a hornet's nest; more trouble than it was worth for the thrill.

"Not laughing, oddly enough." Though he does, clipped and irritated.

Both hands up, "But look, now, I didn't molest you or nothing... it ain't like that." Though, now, he's thinking he might as well have.

"The point is, I have enough to think about without worrying about you rifling around and..." He has half a mind to ask what "it" is, in fact, like. Oh, God, what if Jayne took a capture? Simon knows he looks visibly horrified at the idea.

Jayne is up out of his chair, double-time, the legs barking on the floor as he tries to shove it between them. "Whoa, now, there are more proper places to spew up. Like... not on me."

"Is this all because I--oh, for the love of...I'm not going to...spew." Anything but vitriol, for all the effect it's not having. "If you recorded your little stealth operation in any way, shape, form, or other tangible means, I will not be responsible for my actions."

Jayne watches his mouth move. Watches and tilts his head, "...That a threat?" Because he has to be sure.

Not much of one, unless he's going to threaten Jayne with vomit, so Simon just sighs and sinks into a chair.

Simon sits, so Jayne does too-- picking up where he left off with the poke-whittling at a chunk of wood with that ungodly hunting knife.

"So." Leaning his head in one hand, eyes closing long-sufferingly. "It's been an eventful twenty-four hours. I'm out a pair of silk pants, I'm moderately paranoid, and River said something that made me think I'd gotten married." He wonders how much the captain knows about all this. They'd started...discussing that last night, hadn't they? He's not sure he wants to try and remember.

"Married?" Jayne vaguely recalling that one memorable time after that drunken stupor when the captain had ended up with a wife and... well, best not to live in the past. A partial shake of his head and a shudder. "Look, my chunk of wood looks like..." he blows it off a bit, sets it down, tilts his head this way and that, "a chunk of wood."

Glancing sidelong as those wide, rough hands work away at whatever Jayne thinks he's doing. "You don't think things through very often, do you?" Brushing wood chips into a mound with his fingertips.

Squint at the little pile of debris Simon’s worked together. “Don't see a need to most times."

"And that's where we differ." Simple as that, uttered on an exasperated exhale. Swish-swirl a knuckle against the soft shavings. "So, does Kaylee have the pants too, or are you hoarding them for some secret purpose of your own?"

"Yeah, I kept them to get off on." A roll of Jayne's eyes, tap-tapping the tip of that blade against the edge of the table, watching the dust flutter-puff into the air and waft away in the span of a blink.

Simon's face crumples automatically. "I did not need to hear that."

Both hands up in a prissy-aired gesture. "Oh-ho. Mr. Would-You-Rut-With-Me? Am-I-Pretty? Don't-I-Look-Cute-In-Puke-Up?"

His hand goes flat over the idly gathered wood shavings. "I never said that." Did he?

Jayne quirks an eyebrow, leaning in, elbow to the wood, waving that knife all into Simon's face haphazardly. "You don't know what nobody said, much less yourself. Trust me. It was said. You said it."

"I didn't." Stare back at Jayne determinedly, like he can make the remark true. "And I remember...most things." Threw up, got dragged back onboard, somehow made it to bed. Had they talked about Mal?

Turn-flip that handle over his hand and stab the tip of glinting metal neatly into the tabletop before pushing to his feet and shuffling to the kitchen. "You did. Anyway; you come up with some... cunning plan yet?"

Simon flinching despite himself, trying to push pieces of last night into place inside his head. "Plan?" He isn't sure he wants to know. "You carried me." It makes sense; that must have happened. He can't recall it, but River must have seen, somehow. Over the threshold. God, he hopes nobody else saw that. "Must have been a real adventure for you."

A pause, staring down into his cup. "So?" Flop back down in his seat heavily, sitting the cup on the edge of the table. "Yeah. Y'know." Shooting Simon that “and they call me dense?” expression over his shoulder. "To get to the captain's tacked ass. Or to tack his ass." Snort-chuckle-smirk. Rattling around a metal cup before filling it up hot water, clunking around in his boots-- back to the table.

"Wait...what?" His voice gets soft and he half-turns in his chair, trying to think. He wouldn't have mentioned anything along those lines. Not to Jayne, the one person on the ship bound to hold it over him for the rest of his life. "I didn't say..."

"Well, hell, doc, what did you say all gorram night, then?" Dip the tip of his finger in the cup of water, jerking the knife free and idly wetting the sharp edge, wiping it clean of whatever wood dust didn't take flight before.

"It doesn't matter now, does it, so why ask?" Irritably sitting back in his chair, eyes following the back-and-forth movement of skin over metal. "Everything would have been just fine if you hadn't taken it upon yourself to barge into my room and...and... God."

Wave the other off without so much as a slight look of apology. "Don't take it out on me, I ain't done nothing that you wouldn't find funny if it weren't you and you were actually gettin' a little." He's trying to use the tip of the blade to dig out a pair of eyes on his chunk of wood. If nothing else, he can manage a chunk of wood with eyes.

Simon's far past the stage in his life that involved fraternity pranks, though it actually hasn’t been long at all. The thought makes the corners of his mouth turn down and his eyes flicker down to the tabletop in front of him. "I guess my sense of humor isn't as finely developed as yours." Blow out a breath, brush that thought aside, and reason he's got nothing to lose by asking: "So. What have you told the captain?"

A half-hearted shrug, squinting at the little divots he's dug with the blade-tip. "Nuffin'. Why? Should I have? Can. If you want. He could probably do with gettin' a little himself. All that stuff starts backing up..." The edge of it waved way too close to his own temple. "A man starts to go all.... funny."

Mal is all number of things, but he's not an idiot. For all Simon knows, he assessed the situation ages ago and decided gracefully ignoring it was the best route to take. "That won't be necessary, as noble an offer as it is." Narrowing his eyes at the whittling Jayne's so engrossed with. "What... is that?" He's not entirely sure he believes Jayne, for that matter. Spilling the beans and denying it to Simon's face certainly sounds like something he would do.

"Uh..." Blow the dust from the tiny holes, turning it toward Simon, his eyebrows raising. "...The captain?" A block with two little eyes in it-- ole blockhead. Pretty close, in Jayne's opinion. Peer back down at it, giving a genuine frown. "Never was much good at crap like this. Saw some greasy-haired fella the other night, sitting out on a barrel, looking like a gorram wood-chipper before up popped a gorram spaceship." Now Jayne is scowling. Didn't look that hard, really, but... damned if he could do it.

"Oh." Tilting his head to one side, it does look vaguely humanoid. Vaguely. "It comes with practice, I guess."

"Here, let's notch his head out right here..." Proceeding to do so by pressing his thumb down on the dull side, above the serrated portion, marking out a line. Again, Jayne shrugs, "Don't know what you got your pretty silk trousers twisted all about for, anyhow; he'd snatch you up prolly ‘fore you even got the question out. Right good with that mouth, too."

Which just makes Simon's own drop open a good three seconds before any words come out of it. "Excuse me?" He'd meant to say something about no longer having any silk trousers, too.

Jayne pauses, tilting his chin up, brow furrowed, "...To where?" Only, with Jayne, it comes out sounding like “whur.”

"No, no, no, 'excuse me' as in 'how did you...'" He shouldn't be asking. Jayne is just baiting him, trying to see how far he can go. But Simon can't help himself. "Mouth. Right. As if you'd know."

Does he?

Jayne isn't all that bright at the best of times, but he does know an insult when he hears one. Most of the time. Back straightening, chin sticking out in defiance, "What? Only foppy fop... boys like you know? Ain't nothing big. Not out here-- need to get your head out of so-called civilized life, doc, and wrap your mind around how it works out here in the black. Get what you get when you get it, if you want it. 'Course, didn't help none we were shacked up in some ruttin' whore-house lookin' place with Wash and Zoe goin’ at it in the next room."

"I...don't know any fops," Simon manages, a hand hovering in the air beside his forehead. He really doesn't, not anymore. Ai ya. Mal and Jayne. Jayne and Mal. Maybe as drunk as he'd been last night, giddy and cramped in some ramshackle building some undefined length of time ago. He's still new to Serenity, compared to the rest of the crew, but that doesn't mean he can't understand feeling a little cabin fever after so much time spent in the same place with the same people. "It's just. I didn't...know." Jayne? And the captain? Really? Any minute now, Jayne's going to burst out laughing and hit him on the back hard enough to knock all the air out of his lungs.

Jayne shrugs, as if it doesn't matter in the least. "Didn't ask. You were creepin' around acting all.... creepy-like. Figured that's just how you rich-folk do things. Don't see much sense in it-- wanna do somethin' with 'em, do somethin' with 'em. Easiest thing ever. Stupid-simple. Just cause you lean toward women don't mean you always fall on one." He's grinning now, looking up at Simon, hands pausing so he doesn't accidentally lose a finger, and winking.

JayneandMal, JayneandMal...running together in his head, which feels like it's on fire all over again, only it's not from a hangover this time. Not helped at all by the way Jayne leers at him. "Point taken. Never assume." Would it be too telling how rattled he is if he just left here and now?

Jayne's attention is right back down to the little rough-edged block in his hand, trying to carve out little suspenders from blocked shoulders. "Kaylee was stuck on Serenity. It was supposedly impolite to go wandering off after they thanked us-- put us in their veerrryy best get-ups. Which weren't much. But, hell, it had a bed and we were gonna have to share it, anyhow. And it was hot, so. We were already aching to point of cross-eyed so we just made like Zo and Wash."

It's insane. He's smuggled his sister out from under the Alliance's nose, participated in dozens of heists by now...and it's this that tests his limits? Shoulders hunching momentarily, Simon coughs out a dry little laugh.

"Course, I usually don't kiss on the mouth, but the captain was kinda hot-up on it; somethin' 'bout it being his favorite part." Jayne snorts. Wood dust billows. "Right. But, like I said..." Absently rambling on. This could probably be the most Jayne has ever spoken to Simon ever all in one sitting. "Good mouth. Soft-like. Wouldn't think, but..." Another shrug that seems to say "looks can lie."

Jayne content to narrate in that gruff, gritty way he has, the way that's fully capable of making everything sound suggestive and dirty even when he's just asking someone to pass the peas at dinner. Most of the time, Simon just finds it annoying. Favorite part. "I see."

A slow exhale, Jayne closing one eye-- holding that little chunk of wood up to the light and turning it this way and that. "Like I said, though. Don't need to be so... uppity about it. Don't take much more than askin'.”

Advice on sex. From Jayne. Who's gotten the main event from Mal. For all the complex tidbits of knowledge stored in Simon's head, this one is putting up a damn good fight and he just can't quite seem to process it.

Jayne focuses his gaze on Simon now, his attention there, grinning that typical lecherous grin suddenly. "'Course, I ain't so bad myself-- 'bout tore my ears off my flamin' head."

Ears. He's on the verge of covering his own and just fleeing. "Is that really why you took the pants?" It's the first thing he can think to say and it comes out too fast and too breathy, too ridiculously. Every time he sees the captain, he's going to think of this conversation. Not that it's so much a conversation as Jayne happily watching Simon blink and flush. He tries not to do either. He really does. Mal on some nondescript bed with his back arching off it, legs bare and tensed and wide, veins standing out in hands clenched over dark, unkempt hair, and Jayne. God. It's just wrong. Simon wishes he didn't have such a vivid imagination.

Takes him a second. Well, more than, really, but he finally catches on. "Oh. Oooohh!" In that infuriating snort-laughing way Jayne has when he's being sarcastic or derisive. "You wanna know... 'bout the captain. And me." The knife flip-flashed, stabbed into stability on the table, Jayne slapping his knee and rolling off into a goofy fit of mirth.

Point-laugh. It's just like Jayne, really. Not embarrassed in the least. Brain in the gutter and staying there, as usual, without so much as a hint of color going to his face except when he's starting to gasp, having a hard time catching air; a large, rough hand clutching his own side, as if in pain.

It's amazing all that howling and roaring and knee-slapping hasn't brought everyone onboard running. Simon's not about to stay around and wait for it to happen. Push back his chair, get to his feet, leave Jayne with his amusement and himself with his thoughts as he heads back towards his room.

Jayne knuckling wetness out of the corner of his eyes, "H-hey! Where... where y-you goin'!" Choke down another small wave of chuckles.

"Me? Nowhere. I thought maybe I'd proposition the captain and help him see the error of his ways." It would have a much better effect if his voice wasn't strained and his face wasn't still burning. And it he actually intended to do it.

Jayne, snort-giggling, taking a swallow out of that metal cup he'd recently stuck his finger in. "Happy huntin', doc!"

"I'll be sure to let you know if any of your tips came in handy. Maybe keep a diary."

Jayne's mouth slanted into a wry smile, eyes half-lidded, watching the doctor nearly scurry up the steps and down the hall. "Two words for ya, doc-- Fore. Skin."

He's very grateful Jayne can't see his face anymore. Images of Jayne with those huge hands pinning down Mal's hips with his head buried between the captain's thighs...Simon can't leave fast enough. "Doctor," over his shoulder. If he knows anything, it's how to manipulate the human body.

At the moment, his own. Click the door shut and locked, lean against it for a second as if to be sure Jayne isn't thudding after to rummage through his wardrobe or his scruples or anything else.

What's left of them, anyway. Trousers undone, blankets kicked down to the foot of the bed, bucking up into his own hand.

In the other room, Jayne doubts, very seriously, that the doctor's going do anything about the situation. Even now. Suppose he'll have to drop the word in himself. If only to find out if he can watch.


Part 2
Part 3
Part 4