During the first months on Serenity, Simon would wake up with the same sense of dread and anxiety every day. First would come the worry about River, from the small mundane things, to the huge gaping questions. Had she slept? Would the day bring another setback? What exactly could he do to help her? Then, he'd remember the ship – dangers from outside and in. Even back then, he'd known that he couldn't wake up to these thoughts forever – they would break him, the endless crush of worry and change and danger and violence would leave him with nothing of himself. For a short time, after months of despair, running, and close calls with the Alliance, Reavers, and just about everything else, Simon would wake up in the morning resigned. Relatively. They'd improbably survived this long. Why constantly worry about the future? He took a lesson from the others, and worried about the now, taking what good he could. These days, Simon almost always wakes up in pain. This is invariably because Jayne is half-crushing him. Simon isn't sure whose (brilliant) idea this arrangement had been, but he is reminded of it in the most immediate of ways each morning. The pain of whatever Jayne is lying on – hand, leg, arm, once even his jaw – wakes him up. At least Simon no longer wakes up to the press of a knife hilt on his foot, or to a hard lump of spare ammo digging into his spine. Moving out of Jayne's room had been a good idea. Almost immediately, the pain is followed by residual warmth that is his body's way of reminding of him of the (inevitably) athletic sex from the night before. Other feelings, memories, senses follow – the realization that they stink, and the resignation of the smirks the others will probably give them at the breakfast table. It never gets old to them. Then worries about River, and some residual Alliance anxiety. Even if there haven't been problems in weeks. Especially if. Eventually, Jayne will wake up, possibly because Simon finally shoves him hard enough. The man can sleep like the dead sometimes. Jayne is not a morning person. Today, however, he is coherent enough to curse. "Gorram it, Simon. Can't a man sleep?" There is no real edge to the words, and Simon half-smiles. "You're crushing my arm." Jayne turns over, off the arm, but other than that, all Simon gets is muttering. "And we need to get up." Grunt. "There should be food ready. It's Book's turn to cook." This gets a stir of interest, unlike when Wash is cooking. "Real food, Jayne." As real as it gets these days, anyway. "It'll be gone if we don't get out there soon." Jayne turns back towards him, the pillow falling onto the floor in the process. Simon needs to look into getting a bigger bed. "Ain't hungry." Simon rolls his eyes. "Oh yes, I find that a believable statement." Grinning now, Jayne leans (impossibly) closer. "Might have to work up an appetite." Simon laughs. Yes.During the first months on Serenity, Simon would wake up with the same sense of dread and anxiety every day. First would come the worry about River, from the small mundane things, to the huge gaping questions. Had she slept? Would the day bring another setback? What exactly could he do to help her? Then, he'd remember the ship – dangers from outside and in. Even back then, he'd known that he couldn't wake up to these thoughts forever – they would break him, the endless crush of worry and change and danger and violence would leave him with nothing of himself. For a short time, after months of despair, running, and close calls with the Alliance, Reavers, and just about everything else, Simon would wake up in the morning resigned. Relatively. They'd improbably survived this long. Why constantly worry about the future? He took a lesson from the others, and worried about the now, taking what good he could. These days, Simon almost always wakes up in pain. This is invariably because Jayne is half-crushing him. Simon isn't sure whose (brilliant) idea this arrangement had been, but he is reminded of it in the most immediate of ways each morning. The pain of whatever Jayne is lying on – hand, leg, arm, once even his jaw – wakes him up. At least Simon no longer wakes up to the press of a knife hilt on his foot, or to a hard lump of spare ammo digging into his spine. Moving out of Jayne's room had been a good idea. Almost immediately, the pain is followed by residual warmth that is his body's way of reminding of him of the (inevitably) athletic sex from the night before. Other feelings, memories, senses follow – the realization that they stink, and the resignation of the smirks the others will probably give them at the breakfast table. It never gets old to them. Then worries about River, and some residual Alliance anxiety. Even if there haven't been problems in weeks. Especially if. Eventually, Jayne will wake up, possibly because Simon finally shoves him hard enough. The man can sleep like the dead sometimes. Jayne is not a morning person. Today, however, he is coherent enough to curse. "Gorram it, Simon. Can't a man sleep?" There is no real edge to the words, and Simon half-smiles. "You're crushing my arm." Jayne turns over, off the arm, but other than that, all Simon gets is muttering. "And we need to get up." Grunt. "There should be food ready. It's Book's turn to cook." This gets a stir of interest, unlike when Wash is cooking. "Real food, Jayne." As real as it gets these days, anyway. "It'll be gone if we don't get out there soon." Jayne turns back towards him, the pillow falling onto the floor in the process. Simon needs to look into getting a bigger bed. "Ain't hungry." Simon rolls his eyes. "Oh yes, I find that a believable statement." Grinning now, Jayne leans (impossibly) closer. "Might have to work up an appetite." Simon laughs. Yes. |
| Pairing: Jayne/Simon Rating: PG Summary: Simon wakes up. |