“Ow.” Simon bent forward, hand clutching his face where it had made unpleasant contact with Kaylee’s chin. In the quieter moments, he’d spent a reasonable amount of time imagining himself and Kaylee face to face, facing each other, parts of their faces touching. Sometimes he allowed himself to think about touching other parts of her as well. Of course, his nostrils hadn’t been gushing blood in those scenarios. He’d been coy and suave. He’d beguiled her with his witty repertoire. She hadn’t been hovering over him in a blood-stained green nightie, trying to push bits of tissue paper up his nose.

“Aw, honey.” She leaned in, trying to assess the damage.

“I’m okay. Really, it’s not that—”

“Sweetie, you’re bleedin’ everywhere. Let me take your shirt off.” He wasn’t sure if that look on her face was guilt or amusement as her hands moved up his torso, dragging the material with her.

“Ow, ouch.” The collar of his shirt caught painfully as she tried to raise it over his head. He wondered vaguely what would kill him first: the humiliation of bleeding all over her bed or utter mortification at the way his body was responding to the touch of her fingers on his bare chest.

“You just lay back here ‘gainst the pillows. That better?”

“Oh, yes. The pain’s gone now. It’s a miracle.” He met her eyes, watched her blink at him in a baffled sort of way. “I—I didn’t mean…it’s not your fault. I was just trying to be…funny. Forget it.”

Kaylee smiled, set his ruined shirt aside.

“Zoe was right. You do get awful ironical when you’re cranky.”

***

Inara stared up at the roof of her shuttle, listening to Mal breathe beside her, close enough to feel the heat from his body bounce off hers. She was inches away from his shoulder, a hand’s reach from his hair. How far away were his lips?

“Inara—”

“Mal, you’ve been through something terrible.” The words poured from her lips, quick, nearly tripping in their rush to get out. “You’re not well. You’re saying things without thinking them throu