Trying to get my hand in at this. It's a labour of love. My very first Firefly fic.

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“Captain,” Simon said, exasperation clear in his voice, “Will you *please* sit down and let me clean that cut?”

Mal didn’t so much as glance his way. “How are we doing, Wash?” he asked.

“Not badly, Cap’n. At this rate, we’ll be landing in two days.”

“Good.” Mall smiled, and Wash decided to try and take advantage of the good news to get a few minutes off duty—and perhaps to help the young doctor as well, who was only trying to do the right thing.

“Would you mind taking the helm for a few minutes? I wanna go and see Zoe.” Not a whole truth, but enough that Mal would accept it.

“Okay,” Mal said, and took the seat as Wash vacated it. Wash noted that he only reached his right hand towards the controls, keeping his left arm out of the way, and prayed that nothing was going to require complex adjustments—the sort that needed both hands.

“Thanks. I’ll be back in ten.” Wash left, giving Simon a quick smile on the way out. The captain was sitting down—now it was the doctor’s turn.

For a moment, there was silence. Mal studied the controls and Simon studied Mal.

The cut on the captain’s forearm wasn’t very long or very deep, and it hadn’t bled very much—which was what worried Simon about it. A cut that size, sustained on a jagged edge somewhere in helping Kaylee, should bleed enough to clean the wound, and then some. The whole ship was filthy, especially the engineering sctions, and who knew what could be in that cut? Grease, soot, unburnt fuel, plain old dust and grime from a hundred planets—none of them condusive to quick and healthy healing.

Arguing hadn’t been helping his case before, so now he decided to simple get on with it. he knelt by the captain, who steadfastly ignored him, took the items he’d require out of his medical bag, and reached for Mal’s left arm.

Mall moved away, finding some excuse to lean over and fiddle with something on the control board.

Simon bit back a sigh. “Look, captain, do you want that cut to turn septic or not? Because if you don’t, I suggest you let me clean it out.” Mal still didn’t look at him. “Captain? Mal?”

The use of his first name did make him turn and make eye contact—the doctor didn’t use it very often. Simon took advantage of the moment of surprise. “Mal, let me help.”

Looking into the captain’s eyes, Simon suddenly realised that Mal was scared. The big, tough, godless, lawless captain who terrified Simon on an almost daily basis was scared—not of death, or of Reavers, or of the Alliance, but of a simple procedure that would sting for all of two seconds and prevent a lot of future pain.

Later, Simon would wonder why he hadn’t been forced to fight hysterical laughter. At the time, all he could think of was taking that pain out of Mal’s eyes—and without denting the captain’s dignity. The last thing he wanted to do was upset him.

“Where will we be if I let the captain die of gangrene?” Simon asked, knowing he was exaggerating the danger but aware that make the other option look worse could only further his cause. “Jayne would probably kill me.” He reached in his bag for local anaesthetic cream, and decided against telling the captain that he wouldn’t give it to most people.

“Zoe would stop him,” Mal said, trying to grin reassuringly. Simon reached for his arm again and this time he was allowed to take it.

“Yes, and then kill me herself.” Gently, Simon pulled Mal’s sleeve up and examined the cut. The light wasn’t as good as he’d like, but he could see the dirt in the wound well enough. He twisted it a little, trying to get a better angle, and Mal winced.

“Unlikely. You’d have…” Mal paused as Simon rubbed the cream onto his arm, and then went on, “to hurt Wash before she’d do that.”

Cream applied, Simon set to cleaning the cut. As he’d feared, there was engine grease as well as simple dirt, though lucky the wound was fairly simple, a straight cut rather than a tear or slice though the skin. “I think you may have underestimated Zoe’s protectiveness, captain.”

Watching Simon carefully pull a strand of fibre out of his arm—probably from his torn sleeve—proved to be more than Mal could watch. He turned away, grateful to be able to think about his crew rather than himself. “I know them better than you do, doc. Inara’s the one you’d want to watch out for—she’s got quite a line in self-defence when she’s minded that way.”

Simon didn’t reply for a minute. As he removed the drying dirt, the blood was beginning to flow, and his hands were full.

Fay, your Spred is very nice. I like muchly.

Ha!

Excellent Spred!

Also, just posted by Sunday 100:

Angel: A Reverie for Buffy

The touch of a tongue to your nipple. The snake of one small finger down the inside of your thigh. It started high, that movement, pausing behind your knee, the spot only she knew about, the spot that always got you to make that noise, deep in your throat where your breath used to pool up.

The tiny drip of her, oh yes, she was all warmth and juices and being alive, and you needed that, you wanted it, you missed it with Dru, Darla, all the beautiful chilly bitten ones.

She's gone now, from your bed, from your world.

My Sunday100:

Grievance

Though it's been months since it happened, she still finds herself daydreaming.

Rationally she knows she wouldn't want to live that life, and even now she's relatively confident in her sanity.

But there are moments when she wonders if, in one world, she was crazy--could she be normal in another? The thought plagues her during sleepless nights, teases her as she patrols, taunts her as she works.

In the end, she accepts her life for what it is--really, that's all she can do in the face of infinite impossibilties. She is what she is, and she wouldn't change.

Probably.

Yay! For Spred!

Today's 100 is Fantasies. Today's pairing (though really, it's just Angel/Hand), is Angel/Fred.

Sunday 100, Grip.

Maybe Wes would understand, if he wasn't so busy fucking Lilah. Even if he wasn't, Angel wouldn't tell him about this latest obsession. Some things just aren't meant to be shared.

Gunn would probably agree.

He can hear her, screaming, demanding, growling as the thin veneer of civilization slips, can hear the squeaking of the mattress and the slamming of the headboard. Can almost taste her thick, hot blood on his tongue. He closes his eyes and lets the sea scent of sweat and sex surround him, closes his fist around his cock, pumping to the throb of her pulse.

See edit: just added mine to my post.

mmmm- all yummy drabbles.

The sound of bells led the wandering Scoobies around the last curve in the road. A small valley opened up, with fields of crops filling most of the space and an old Spanish mission occupying the rocky area at the head of the valley. An orange orchard shaded the buildings.

"Oh, this is pretty," Joyce said, looking out. "How peaceful."

Buffy grimaced. "I bet they're really going to appreciate us showing up."

Spike squinted through the painted windows at the people in the fields. "Not all of those are human."

Giles craned his head up as far as he could while staying out of the sun. "The last time I was here, a family of Minoto was here, waiting for word on relatives in San Francisco."

"Minoto? Scaley sorts with stubby tails? That could be what's out there, but they're all wearing hooded robes."

"Minoto don't like the sun."

"Fascinating as this National Geographic special is," Xander called from the driver's seat, "what do we do? Just drive up to the front gate and say hi?"

"Essentially," Giles answered. "Be careful of the chickens. Buffy, the Mother Superior is called Sister Agnes Gabriel. She knows--knew me, she would be the one to talk to."

Buffy sighed. "How much do I tell her?"

"Everything. With the Knights so close, we don't dare put the convent in danger without warning them."

Xander drove carefully through the old wooden gates, watching for livestock trying to throw themselves under the wheels. The adobe walls surrounding the courtyard were bright with whitewash, and the gates themselves, while old, were in good repair. Directly across the courtyard were the open doors of the chapel, heavily carved in the original mission style but also well tended.

There didn't seem to be a parking area, so Xander just stopped the bus in the middle of the courtyard. A group of nuns gathered at tables in the shade under a grape arbor at one end of the courtyard got to their feet, staring. One of them came forward.

"Buffy, you're on," Xander said, opening the door.

With a deep breath, Buffy got out of the bus, trying to avoid the chickens now regathering around the wheels. She didn't have a lot of experience with nuns and wasn't sure if she was supposed to kiss a ring or anything.

The woman coming towards her had a dark weathered face under the wimple that covered her head. It seemed like a nice face, except for the surprise and confusion there now.

Buffy put on her best smile. "Hi, I'm looking for Sister Agnes Gabriel."

"I am her," the nun said.

"Hi. I'm Buffy Summers. Rupert Giles said you might be able to help us."

A little more friendliness appeared on the sister's face, along with a little more suspicion. "You know Rupert Giles?"

"Uh huh. Known him for years now."

Sister Agnes looked at the bus. "Is he with you?"

"Yes, he is, and that's kind of a long story."

As she tried to think of a place to start that would explain the situation without alienating the woman, Sister Agnes looked at her closely. "You're the Slayer," she said softly.

"You know about that? Oh, of course you would, Giles said this place was a sanctuary for demons, so you probably know about all sorts of weird stuff. "

Sister Agnes smiled and touched Buffy's cheek. "Calm, child. Tell me why you're here."

Buffy took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then began to talk, never taking her eyes from the nun's face. Sister Agnes frowned at mention of Glory, then again at the explanation for Dawn's presence, both in the world and at the convent.

"If we can just stay out of her way until after sunrise tomorrow," Buffy said, "then the world's safe, and we can work out the rest of what to do about Glory. But we've also got these Knight guys after us, and I think they followed us here, and we're very sorry about that."

Sister Agnes thought for several moments. "Where is Mr. Giles?"

Buffy remembered Spike saying that the Eugenians didn't like vampires. Well, technically speaking, neither did she, what with the job title and all. She thought of trying to talk her way around the inconvenient truth, but Giles himself had recommended being straightforward. And she really hated the idea of lying to this nice lady who didn't look at her like she was crazy or bad or a freak.

"There's kind of a problem with Giles. If he comes out into the sun, he'll go poof. And we kind of need him unpoofed."

Sister Agnes crossed herself. "He's--he's a--a vampire?"

"Yeah. And we have another one with us, too."

"Two vampires? But--you're the Vampire Slayer."

"Like I said, it's part of a long story. Look, if you don't want us here, we'll more than understand. Being around us right now isn't the safest thing, and I don't like dragging innocent people into this. But we need a place to hide until after dawn tomorrow. Do you know of someplace, hopefully close by?"

The nun studied her. "You're exhausted, child. How long have you been up?"

"Everybody keeps harping on how I need to sleep. I got some sleep on the bus, I'm fine."

"Of course," Sister Agnes smiled. "How many of you are there?"

Buffy started ticking off fingers. "Me, my mom and Dawn, Xander and Anya, Willow and Tara, Spike and Giles. Nine of us. Too many, I know."

Sister Agnes patted her shoulder. "We have lots of room. Lots of beds, if anyone wants to get some rest. You said your mother and one of the girls were ill?"

"Well, Mom's doing a lot better, and Tara's not too bad, except for her hand and her mind--and you're going to let us stay?"

"No one who has asked for sanctuary has ever been turned away."

Buffy hadn't known how tired she was until she finally had a reason to relax. She wobbled, but Sister Agnes pulled her into a hug before she could do anything so unSlayer-like as fall over. Buffy hugged her back, grateful for the thick cloth of the nun's habit, which absorbed tears before anyone had to notice them.

I love it when a plot line comes together