Malcolm Beauregard Reynolds (
badinlatin) wrote2005-08-13 05:00 pm
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Post-Attack with Mal.
"But I'll be here when you're done..."
The first conscious thought that occurs to Captain Reynolds is that he is very cold, and that this condition might be due to the fact he has no shirt on and is lying facedown on an examination table.
Gorramitwelosti'mattheAcademy
Mal quickly attempts getting up - too quickly - and immediately falls back down on the table, pain zipping through his right side.
Once it passes through Mal's head that he should look around this room he's in, he might see Simon's meticulously-ordered medical supplies throughout this sterile room.
And the person about to enter into it.
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"...We made it. Wo de ma."
Mal doesn't add anything to that statement, as if he is scared to.
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"Yeah." Soft. "We made it."
Beat.
"Xièxie nĭ."
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If Mal's eyes are getting bright, it's all those painkillers he's on. Definitely.
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"I don't know," he says, casually shifting his feet onto the lowest rung of the stool as he wraps his hands around the seat. "Maybe 'cause some grumpy old húndàn told me about all these wacky things a captain does to make sure his crew gets out of danger and peril okay. Ain't like I'm giving you all the credit here, the last thing we need is the captain turning into an insufferable egomaniac on us, but...."
He looks down.
"Everybody's still here. I'd call that a thanks-worthy victory."
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"What the hell do you mean everyone's still here? I saw River, Roland, Anthy and Tom in the hallway. The explosion."
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Wash scratches the back of his neck.
"That's the funny thing. You know that Opening trick Tom can do? Seems he did it right before everything went to hell on you."
His smile dims.
"I -- I don't know about Roland or Anthy, but River and Tom both made it back okay."
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"That's...that's shiny." Mal's vocabulary escapes him at the moment. "Simon must be relieved." Mal's never seen Simon as unable to handle himself in a situation given the right push, but he wouldn't want to come between him and his sister.
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Amused now. He shifts the stool a little bit closer to Mal.
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"I was ready, Wash. To die. Over on the station. Would have been easy enough."
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He grows more serious.
"I know you were. And yeah, it really would've been.
"I'm glad you didn't."
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"Thank you. 'S good to hear," he replies, offering a quick smile of gratefulness in return.
A moment's pause, then: "Have I ever told you when my birthday is?"
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Beat.
"Though I think I should point out that my thanks doesn't extend far enough to buying you five years' worth of repairs or something."
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Stoic yet smiley, Mal proclaims, "I'm turning 33 on the 30th. Somehow, all o' this is making me want to celebrate makin' it to 33 a bit more than I had beforehand."
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The smile he's been struggling to hold back finally surfaces. "Fortunately, that won't stop me from getting you something nice. If I can think of anything. Can you think of anything?"
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"Presents? Ah, damn, I don't know. Don't tell me you can't figure out somethin'? Just...don't get me drunk 'n take pictures o' me no more."
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By which he really means: not at all. As evidenced by the innocent expression on his face.
And, a shrug. "I got some time, I bet I'll come up with something."
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Not that Mal thinks Wash would. But it's a comforting feeling to get back into a routine of back-and-forth. Normal.
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Carefully, he pats the captain's shoulder as he stands.
"Sleep well."
And exit one pilot, stage right.