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F: Ambiguous
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: Mal/Simon
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Simon got back late. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
candywrapper's prompt, "late".
"You got back late, today. It's a good thing we were running late with taking on cargo, or we'd've had to leave without you."
Simon doesn't quite meet Mal's eyes, not sure whether he'll find anger or hurt there. Back home, he'd've had excuses. And the excuses would've been accepted: the whole thing meaningless. Here, everything trips him up. Here, he can do nothing right.
He could blame it on River. The time she spent staring at the market stalls, caressing this piece of junk or that, running her fingers lightly over the stitching of a decorated cushion, gently smoothing her fingers over a piece of fruit. He watched her, watched her obvious joy, and tried to guess what she was thinking, what she was feeling. He barely even noticed the time passing.
"I'm sorry," he says, finally, without stopping for excuses. Mal reaches up, surprising him -- rough fingers touching his jaw and sliding along it.
"I was worried, kid," he says, a little gruffly.
"I always come back fine," Simon says, not sure if he's defensive or reassuring. Both, perhaps. Certainly there's room for both in the words, and his tone is ambiguous even to his own ears.
"Yes, you do." Mal's hand drops away, tenderness lost to professionalism. "Keep that up."
"Yes, captain," he replies, a little mocking.
Pairing: Mal/Simon
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Simon got back late. For
candywrapper's prompt, "late"."You got back late, today. It's a good thing we were running late with taking on cargo, or we'd've had to leave without you."
Simon doesn't quite meet Mal's eyes, not sure whether he'll find anger or hurt there. Back home, he'd've had excuses. And the excuses would've been accepted: the whole thing meaningless. Here, everything trips him up. Here, he can do nothing right.
He could blame it on River. The time she spent staring at the market stalls, caressing this piece of junk or that, running her fingers lightly over the stitching of a decorated cushion, gently smoothing her fingers over a piece of fruit. He watched her, watched her obvious joy, and tried to guess what she was thinking, what she was feeling. He barely even noticed the time passing.
"I'm sorry," he says, finally, without stopping for excuses. Mal reaches up, surprising him -- rough fingers touching his jaw and sliding along it.
"I was worried, kid," he says, a little gruffly.
"I always come back fine," Simon says, not sure if he's defensive or reassuring. Both, perhaps. Certainly there's room for both in the words, and his tone is ambiguous even to his own ears.
"Yes, you do." Mal's hand drops away, tenderness lost to professionalism. "Keep that up."
"Yes, captain," he replies, a little mocking.