The Cold

By Kaynara

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One-shot set after Trash; Simon/Kaylee, Mal/Inara; PG-13

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Oh, how he hated those needles. Big bunches o’ hate. Right now it was all swirling in his head: the doc and his needles and--ai ya, was that another one? Was he really gonna stick him again? Hwoon dan was probably enjoying this. Prolly got his jollies sticking folk with needles and watchin’ em--

“Ow!”

“Sorry.” Simon winced. “I’m just gonna draw some blood.”

“What for? It don’t need drawing.”

“Captain.” He spoke slowly, as though reassuring a small and somewhat daft child. “You haven’t seen a doctor in six years.”

“Now that just ain’t so. See your pretty mug every day, don’t I?”

“When was your last physical? And before you ask, no. My sewing up your bullet holes doesn’t count.”

“Sure as hell hurt less.” He glowered cuz it seemed the thing to do.

“I’m almost finished. This would go faster if you’d quit squirming.”

“Doctor. I am the captain. The captain don’t squirm.”

“Yes. Yes, I see that now.” He rolled his eyes. “My mistake.”

“What’s goin’ on?”

Kaylee wandered in, a smile cut high on her cheeks. She’d done her hair up in two ponytails, the end result of which had her looking about eighteen. Mal watched her hop up on the table beside him, one teddy-bear patched thigh bumping his. He watched his blood swirl red as, well, blood, into little plastic vials. He felt like an old man. He also felt a mite nauseous.

“What’s goin’ on here is the doc sees fit to bleed me. And I’m about one plastic vial away from losing my lunch.”

“One more pinprick.”

“They ain’t pinpricks!” But he rolled up his other sleeve, eager to be out of here.

“Actually, Captain.” Boy looked all too pleased with himself. “Actually, this one doesn’t go in your arm.”

Mal just groaned.

“Who’s the next victim?” he asked after, rearranging his clothes with as much dignity as he could muster at that moment. “Please say Jayne. Or Inara.”

Woman was entirely too smug about the whole thing