In the Still of the Night

Mal/Simon

PG - h/c (no violence)

From a distance, it may have looked like a tiny star falling out of the sky, slipping through the clouds at a lazy angle and floating like a feather before touching ground out of sight in the hills.

For those on board the shuttle, however, the experience was much less tranquil.

"Wash, come in! WASH! Piece of fei hu!" Captain Reynolds swore at the sparking comm unit, at the shuttle, at the whole gorram 'verse for swatting him out of the gorram sky. The plan had been going so well...

He smacked at the console with his coat wrapped round his arm until the flames died down, and yelled to the back compartment: "Doc, this ain't a time for you to be getting the creases out of your fine white shirt, I could use some ruttin' HELP up here!"

No response.

"Doctor?"

More swearing tumbled out of his mouth as he wriggled out of the jammed harness and unsteadily made his way to the back of the shuttle. "Doc, I know that landing was a little rougher than you might of liked..."

Stops. Stares, disbelieving.

The doctor was not seeing to his own cuts and bruises. Not stumbling around in a daze or attempting to check the cargo. Not, in fact, moving. Pinned across the chest by a crate, leg bent ways nature never intended, blood a mask over half of his face...

"Wuh de tien, ah don't be..."

Mal drops his coat and vaults over the debris, kneeling to press a palm against his throat. For one heart-freezing moment, there is nothing but tacky blood and cool flesh. Then, a beat. Another longish moment, and a second beat. Mal's knees go weak with relief, and he takes a slow breath through his suddenly tight throat.

::Alright. Let's do this.::

Get up, flip the crate, slowly, gently, watch the edge, shove it over, he looks so still, check the throat again, clear a space, lay out a blanket, dig through the goh~se for the emergency medkit...

"Captain?"

Mal whirls around and nearly slips in the rubble. Simon is staring at him through one eye, th