“You’re lucky,” Simon said, drying his hands.

Mal narrowed his eyes. “You think?”

“I know. The bullet was intact, it missed the main artery and your pelvis ... I call that luck.”

“Luck woulda been Pedersen missing entirely.” He wasn’t in the mood to be generous. When the shuttle docked and Freya and Zoe had carried Mal on the stretcher into the infirmary, Simon was ready for him.

It had taken Mal a lot to keep from throwing up. Simon had shot him with a painkiller, but seeing the doctor pushing a metal probe into his flesh ... Luckily the narcotic included in the injection began to kick in, and the infirmary soon span and drifted away.

He came to with Freya stroking his forehead, something he took a moment to enjoy before wishing it would happen more often without him lying on the secondary medbed, bandages wrapped around his body until he felt like a mummy from Earth-that-was.

“Hey.” She smiled, her face paler than he would have liked.

“Hey.” He coughed, his mouth dry, and she held a cup of water with a straw for him to sip. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She stroked the hair back from his forehead again.

It was at that point Simon made his observation, and Mal shifted awkwardly on the counter. He gasped as a stab of pain lanced through his hip and filled his body.

“Lie still,” Simon advised. “You won’t be going anywhere for a while. You might have been lucky, but you were still shot, and I’ve had to operate. Any unnecessary movement and you could bleed to death.”

Hank, on the main medbed, chuckled. “That’s what he said to me.”

“He says it every time,” Mal agreed, somewhat sourly.

“With monotonous regularity,” Simon said deadpan. “I just wish you’d listen.”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Freya promised.

“Good.”

Noises out in the lounge made Mal change his focus from glaring at his wife to looking out into the common area. The rest of his crew were smiling in at him, including the children. Even Indigo stood back in the shadows.

“Hey, Cap,” Kayle