Author's Note: This is pre-slash, Mal/Simon, but it's probably subtle enough that you might not notice if I hadn't mentioned it. The story is framed together in a series of snapshots, and it's all about what isn't said…

Sometimes the 'verse stood still. It caught a moment, one of 'em you most wanted to get past, and just froze it there—made you watch, and wouldn't let you move. He'd lived so many moments like that in his life, but instead of getting easier to move through it got harder instead. Being helpless would never get routine.

"I swear to you, Arisei," Mal growled, pulling at the men holding him back. "I will kill you, and it will be slow. You put that gun down—now!"

Arisei Lang was more amused than intimidated. "Found an Achilles' heel now, have I, Mal?" he asked, giving a wide grin.

Mal's eyes slipped away from the cruel smile to Simon, right across from Arisei, a gun held in his hands. His grip on it was steady, but his eyes gave him away. He wasn't near prepared enough to fire, and Mal wasn't sure he could even hear them, he seemed somewhere else. He watched as Simon ran his tongue behind his teeth nervously, a habit he had, and loosened and then tightened his hands around the gun.

He couldn't take this, couldn't take not moving. Simon could move if he wanted, but he wasn't. "Gorrammit, Simon, shoot him!" Mal yelled. If he just pulled the trigger it would be over, he just had to pull it first.

Arisei grinned at Simon with all the assurance of a man who knew he had the upper hand. "This boy ain't gonna shoot me, Mal. You know him so well and you can't figure that?" Arisei was holding his own gun one-handed, casually, it was only irreverence, on his part, that kept him from firing.

Mal tried to pull away again, but two of Lang's men had him held secure. The only reason they hadn't grabbed Simon yet was Arisei liked to play games, and he'd decided within forty seconds that Simon would make a nice pawn. Mal had seen it, had cursed himself for agreeing to bring the doctor at all,