Author’s Note: I hope that I’m not begging for too cheap of a laugh by writing this, but the end of "Ariel" got me thinking. This ties in briefly to my other fic, Forgive and Forget (this takes place between Jayne getting out of the airlock and him not appearing for dinner that night). As for the implied Simon/Mal in this fanfic (just joking here), if I had to choose a slash couple for Firefly, I’d be more inclined towards Simon/Jayne. Anyway, enjoy the fic, and feedback is greatly appreciated!

Malcolm Reynolds shoved his hands into his pockets and heaved a deep sigh as he stared at the huge crates filled with medical supplies: their loot gained from a recent heist on the planet Ariel. But, as seemed to happen quite frequently, the job had not been smooth. He was just about ready to give up hope that any of their heists would go without a hitch. Only this time, it had been one of his own crew members who had hindered the larger plan for his own selfish gain.

"One of his crew" was going a bit far, Mal tried to reason. Jayne Cobb was a cold-blooded mercenary -- his job constituted changing sides regularly depending on the money offered -- and he thought plain and simple. He had stayed with Serenity for so long only because the money was better than he was bound to get with other smuggling ships. But once a better offer arose, he switched sides without hesitation or guilt. He deserved to die for betraying his captain.

Then why hadn't Mal sent the bastard into space where he belonged? That Mal didn't have a simple, clear-cut answer to, but he fervently wished that he did. He'd given Jayne a second chance, and now he hoped that the mercenary would muster up enough brainpower to not try any more stunts like this one.

The one thing Mal had a pretty good idea of was that he might have some peace before Jayne returned to his regular self, with care only for himself and smartass comments for everyone else. The normally tough mercenary had kept his distance since being released from the airlock a few hours ago, and when they had passed each other in the hallway, Jayne had sent a furtive glance Mal's way, then tried to act as if he weren't looking at him.

I scared him; that's good to know, Mal comforted himself. What I really, really hope is that he learned his lesson. Then again, I've never been lucky with miracles. I'll just have to watch him more closely. Really, once he was old and a happy grandfather -- maybe even great-grandfather -- he would like nothing better than to rock peacefully in his chair and be taken care of by someone nice, without all these troublesome worries.

But for now, back to the present. Mal sighed once more and muttered to himself, "Business as usual." With that, he walked slowly around the crates, giving them a final inspection. Simon Tam was shaping up to be quite a criminal, what with thinking up this entire scheme. Seemed he had adapted to life out here rather quickly. While Mal didn’t expect to see Simon dressing in tight pants and toting a firearm anytime soon, the doctor was much different from the stuffy young man who had stepped aboard the ship on Persephone.

"How are the supplies?" Mal was startled from his deep thoughts by Simon's voice. Speak of the devil, he thought wryly as he turned to face him.

He gave a nonchalant shrug. "It appears to be intact. We got in and got out with all the loot we came for."

Simon nodded distractedly, his gaze already going to the medical supplies as he pondered what he would need to treat the sickly sister of his. It was at this time that Mal noticed, as he had not before, purpling bruises forming on Simon's jaw and the rigidity of his frame. The stress of his first real heist, not to mention the extra trouble he had run into with the Feds, must have put more strain on him than he was used to.

Soon aware of Mal's gaze lingering on him, Simon glanced back up and raised his eyebrows in question.

Mal cleared his throat and took several steps closer to the doctor. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened on Ariel," he began. Surprising both of them, he tentatively placed his hands on Simon's shoulders, in an almost friendly sort of way. "I hear you had quite a scare back there, thinkin’ you were gonna die and all. You okay?"

It was a few moments before Simon had fully taken in that his unapproachable captain had actually deigned to touch him; then he recovered enough to give a shrug that rather mimicked Mal's from earlier. "Well, sure, I’m fine. Anyway, Jayne saved River and me."

He noticed a shadow pass over the captain's face, though Mal was silent. Rather, it was what he didn't say -- the myriad of emotions that flashed over his features for a millisecond -- that sent a tingle of apprehension over Simon's scalp. "Well – uh, yeah," Mal stammered. "– but he told me that you fought just as hard at keeping the Feds down. I admit, I’m pretty impressed."

Despite himself, Simon grinned slightly and glanced at the floor modestly. "It was nothing, really. Really."

Mal eyed him thoughtfully. "You're standin' here talkin' to me, so I'd say it was somethin'."

Shepherd Book chose that moment to emerge from one of Serenity's hallways and take several steps forward on the catwalk before pausing thoughtfully. Since the moment he’d stepped back on Serenity, he’d noticed a change in the ship’s atmosphere, and he wasn’t talking about some new type of air conditioning little Kaylee could have rigged up. In general, the crew seemed happy with a recent job, the details of which were not yet fully clear to him. But when he had passed Jayne on his way to the galley, the mercenary had acted more sullen than usual, not even saying "hello," and had soon thereafter retreated to his bunk like a dog with its tail between its legs.

The strange thing was, the people he had talked to – Zoë, Wash, and Inara – seemed to have absolutely no idea why Jayne was acting more ornery than usual. Then he had asked for Simon, and no one knew where the doctor had gone. His sister, they said, was in her room; Wash had commented on her being strangely silent after this job, but then again River was quite unpredictable.

So Book had come to the ship’s cargo bay to find out what had happened in his absence. And here was the clincher to this strange behavior: Mal and Simon were there, and Mal was clasping Simon's shoulders as if they were friends, or for some other similarly impossible reason.

"I think you’re quite a natural," the captain was saying. Book raised his eyebrows, slightly surprised by Mal's wording. What’s going on here? he wondered.

"Thank you, Captain," Simon said, looking flustered. He recovered by injecting, "But I admit, I was rather nervous." This could get very interesting.

Mal shrugged. "That’s to be expected. It was your first time, after all. But I can assure you, you did great for someone who’s obviously very inexperienced with these kind of things."

Simon barked a laugh, which prompted an accompanying smile from Mal. "Oh, I’m certainly inexperienced. I never learned ‘these kind of things’ at home! My father would be furious if he knew the kinds of . . . activities I engage in nowadays." What kind of activities, indeed? Book wondered. "You know – it was strange, but I sort of liked it."

"Well, you get used to it after awhile. The same type of people, all looking for the same thing – Well, we’ve all gotten used to each other. What I’m trying to say is, you did good."

Book had been afraid of this. He had seen, since the first day he met Simon, that the boy was rather vulnerable and most likely naïve from his wealthy yet sheltered life. It was understandable that he would turn to those who appeared to be higher in authority than he for comfort. Book only wished he'd been able to redirect Simon's attentions toward someone more suitable; Kaylee, perhaps?

Simon didn't bother to correct the captain's grammar. "Yeah, but – but I wasn’t as good as . . . well, Jayne."

Oh, no. Not Jayne Cobb. Don't bring Jayne into this. Well, it looked as if life had pretty much gone to Hell in a handbasket. It was a pity, Book thought; for someone who graduated in the top three percent of his class, Simon didn’t seem too smart when it came to this sort of thing.

Mal swallowed thickly, his reaction to Simon's reply more tense than he wanted to let on. Book blinked, surprised by the shadow he had seen on Mal's face, and resolved to figure out exactly what Jayne's involvement with this had been. For now, he focused on what Mal was saying.

"Oh, well, that’s okay. Jayne – he’s different, I can tell you that. I think this is easier for him – he’s had more experience than you. Take it from me, it’s hard to adjust to him, but after a while you just learn to get used to it." He patted Simon once on the shoulder and looked about to turn around and leave.

Book decided that it was about time to intervene. "What exactly is going on here?" he demanded, stepping into sight and taking the steps down to the cargo bay two at a time. Mal took his hands off Simon’s shoulders as both turned to regard the preacher with identical looks of confusion. "Captain Reynolds, I would suggest that if you have to turn your attentions to someone on this ship, you at least find someone of the opposite sex."

"Huh? What are you – Oh, I get what you’re sayin’," Mal replied, totally nonchalant.

"Well, I don’t get it," Simon said, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"Ain’t nothing happened between us," Mal told Book. "Doc and I were just talking about the heist we pulled off."

Simon’s eyes widened. "As sure as hell nothing happened!" he suddenly exploded, taking a huge step away from both men, his eyes darting wildly back and forth, mostly looking at Mal, though, and suddenly encountering a barrage of disturbing thoughts.

Mal turned a thoughtful eye on him. "Calm down, boy. Ain’t nothin’ to be embarrassed about. Shepherd here just got the wrong idea, thinkin’ we was involved or somethin’."

Simon could barely speak, so he turned instead to Book. This time he was able to at least sputter, "What makes you think he – and I –" He looked flustered and positively sick at the implication, and Book felt a surge of relief that he had been wrong.

He shrugged one shoulder, wincing as a hot jolt of pain seared through him, and he belatedly remembered that that shoulder was still healing from a gunshot wound. "I wasn’t sure of what I was seeing, with you two talking, and him putting his hands on your shoulders – I simply misunderstood." He wondered if he could blame it on aftereffects of his surgery, but with a doctor in the room he wasn’t going to chance a flimsy excuse.

Mal tilted his head to the side. "What, a captain can’t show a little friendliness toward one of his crewmates?" he inquired. "You’re making me out to be some sort of coldhearted leader." He placed a hand over his heart with mock-sadness. "It hurts, really it does."

Now that his previous suspicion was taken care of, with both men staring at him – one incredulous, the other fighting not to laugh – Book was beginning to feel rather foolish. "What were you saying before?" he hastened to ask.

Mal waved a hand at the crates stacked behind them. "We lifted some medicine off a hospital on a Core world. No big deal, really. Doc’s gonna use some of the stuff for his sister, and what’s left we’ll make a profit off of."

He scanned Book thoughtfully for several moments before closing his eyes and slowly shaking his head. "Don’t know what you were thinkin’, Preacher, but you couldn’t be more wrong."

The older man drew himself up to his full height in an attempt to scrounge up a little bit of dignity. "Well, you never know. It’s my job to make sure certain . . . special things don’t happen aboard the ship."

"Don’t you worry, Shepherd," Mal retorted. "There won’t be anything ‘special’ happenin’ on my ship." And he meant it. "`Cause that would be bad, wouldn’t it?"

Book’s reply was a curt nod, and then, either satisfied or more puzzled than before, he left them.

Mal watched his retreating back and gave a snort. "I swear – ever since the issue with Saffron – that man sure has a smutty mind." He turned on one heel and started for another room; Simon’s brain was still too wrapped around Shepherd Book’s unbelievable accusation to reason where Mal was going.

"Yeah, that would be bad," he echoed under his breath as Mal disappeared up the stairs that led to the helm. "That would be . . ." What had River said that the word for "bad" was in the Latin? He searched his memory and soon came up with the appropriate word he was looking for. ". . . mal."