: Um, not naughty? Teen, I guessDisclaimer:
I hired a pack of ninjas to kidnap Joss; he was threatened with hot poker torture and chainsaws so I could meet the real him. I now own all. Thank you.
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Simon groaned and rolled over to his back. Every time he moved, his skin would start to ache anew. But after laying on it for six hours, the right side of his body was in pain. Snuggling deeper into the blankets, a deep, rattling cough started. It came from deep in his lungs, making his bronchial tubes feel like they were bleeding.That's it; I'm going to die from a cold and my tombstone will read "He survived Reavers and murderers, and died from a cold."
His thoughts slipped away as the medications pulled his eyelids shut. Then everything behind his eyelids went red as lights flooded the room.
"What in the-," he started, only to be cut off by another deep, painful cough. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw the captain. Groaning, he started to get out of bed.
"Did someone get shot on the job again?" he rumbled, slowly righting his body.
"No, job were finished three days ago. Ain't even planetside anymore," Mal pointed out.
Simon nodded dumbly before falling back against the pillows with another cough. "Oh."
He closed his eyes and let sleep start to take him again.
"What?!" he growled. He was suddenly somewhat glad of his cold; without the phlegm lining his throat, his angry comment would have been more of a whine.
"Made you some soup. Nothin' too great, but I figure you could use somethin' since ya ain't had anything since this morning."
Simon whimpered as the mention of food reminded him that he was hungry.
"Oh, thank you." He slowly sat up, shivering as the cold air hit his chest. Even with his sweater, he felt the cold. Mal set a tray with cups of soup and tea on Simon's lap. As Simon raised the tea to his mouth, Mal wrapped a spare blanket around Simon's shoulders.
Simon couldn't taste anything, but the heat from the tea was blissful, warming him inside. Mal sat at the foot of the bed, watching Simon sip weakly.
"Well, 'pears Jayne has decided to teach your sister cards," Mal said after a few moments' silence. Simon smiled as he exchanged tea for soup, which was really just broth.
"How many times has she beaten him?" he croaked out.
Mal shook his head. "Every gorram time. Jayne can't figure out how she knows he's bluffin'."
"Doesn't know exactly, watches for tells. And she counts cards."
Mal laughed. "Well then, if Jayne don't admit defeat and quit soon, he's gonna end up doin' her chores for a month. Wash already figured out somethin's off, and he quit."
Simon drained the last of the broth, its warmth making him sleepier. Mal picked up the tray and watched the sick man fall back against the pillows, still wrapped in the blanket.
"Thank you, Captain," he yawned. Mal watched his eyes shut, listening as the doctor's breathing evened out. Once he was sure that the doctor was asleep, Mal reached out one hand and brushed his fingers across the doctor's forehead and cheek.
"Get well, Doc," he whispered with a smile. Still smiling, he left the room, gently shutting the door.