f a l s e . i d o l s

False Idols
[by victoria p.]

Rating: Adult

Summary: Serenity never let him down, not when he kept her up, cared for her like his own flesh and blood.

Notes: All Nichole's fault, for making me think about Mal's tattoo.¹ Thanks to asmallbluedot, luzdeestrellas, and Sullen Siren for the beta, and to Bethy and hossgal for looking it over while I was writing. More notes at the end.

Date: October 17, 2005

She's seen the tattoo on his hip before, but never up close like this, and never when he's asleep. Just one more benefit of sleeping with the Cap'n -- she still calls him that, likes the feel of it in her mouth, the feel of him, and thinks he likes hearing it, even though he tells her she don't have to do it when they're in bed -- seeing him all peaceful-like, curled up tight around her in a bunk not rightly meant for two people.

Her fingers hover above the tattoo, visible now that the blanket has slipped (or, to be honest, now that she's eased the blanket down so she can look at him without him getting tetchy about it or calling her crazy for getting hot and bothered about him) -- a miniature version of Serenity, inked under his skin.

She leans forward, presses a kiss to it, and he jerks awake, mumbling, "Kaylee?"

"Hey," she says, glad her name is first on his lips, on his mind, and lets him pull her up for a kiss.

***

Mal stumbled out of the whorehouse, girl's smell still clinging to his skin, and Purgo said, "Gotta remember this night, young Malcolm, the night you became a man." As if grappling with some whore was all it took to make a man; as if he hadn't been working for his momma on the ranch since he was old enough to walk, at first just summers and after school, and then full-time when he turned sixteen. That was what made him grow up quick. "Let's all get inked!"

The alcohol still humming in his veins made it sound like a damn fine idea.

He was first up, always first, couldn't ever show fear in front of the men, not even lying on the cold table with his pants open and the old lady grinning at him over her needles.

"Like this," he said, showing her the cross around his neck, a gift from Momma on his sixteenth birthday. It weren't fancy -- nothing but a plain silver cross on a plain silver chain -- but he kept it polished and wore it close to his heart.

"Do a good job," Barnes told the woman. "Our boy's shipping out tomorrow, gonna fight those qingwa cào de liúmáng from the Alliance."

"Yeah," he said, preacher's words still ringing in his ears -- If God is for us, who can stand against us? He'd enlisted that afternoon, sent a wave right off to the local militia and was told to report in the morning. "Gonna give 'em what-for."

The tattoo artist was old and sour -- she'd yelled at him more than once for letting his horse forage in her back garden -- but she smiled at him now, proud as everyone in town that their boy was gonna be a real live war hero.

"Half price for you, xiâo péngyou," she said with another smile, and set to work.

The combination of liquor and adrenaline kept him from feeling too much pain, and when he was done, he stared at his hip in the mirror, solid black lines etched underneath his skin, scabbing over beneath the bacitracin the old lady had smeared over it.

"God's on our side," he mumbled, fingers hovering in the air over his newly-decorated skin. God would protect them all.

After Serenity, he couldn't bear to look at it, black on his skin like a brand, mocking him.

He and Zoe stuck together -- he would never tell her, but he didn't think he'd have made it without her, and the way she stuck around, he thought she might feel the same. They spent six months working as hired muscle on the Rim, and by then, he'd saved enough money to start looking for a ship.

He didn't look long.

Zoe shook her head when she saw her ("It's a piece of feiwu.") but Mal knew she was the ship for him, could feel it down to his bones, and he set about making her his very own corner of the 'verse.

That first U-Day, after a fight in a bar on Greenleaf that only made him feel good for about ten minutes, he stumbled into another tattoo parlor, head still swimming from too much sake, blood on his tongue from a split lip, and opened his trousers.

"You're not my type," the guy at the counter said, pointing a gorram gun in his direction.

Mal laughed, too used to staring down hard men in harder places, and too revved up to care. "You got nothing to worry 'bout from me, big boy." He turned, pointed at his hip. "You fix this?"

The guy gestured with the gun. "Depends. What you want done?"

"You ever seen a Firefly? The ship, not the bug."

The guy grunted. "You got a picture?"

"You got access to the Cortex?"

"Cost you extra."

Mal snorted. Of course. "Fine."

Zoe found him as the guy was inking the thrusters, arms of the cross disappearing beneath the sweet curves of Serenity, muttering to himself about something or other. Mal couldn't understand him and wouldn't have given a rat's ass if he could have. He was sobering quickly and the dull pinch of the needle, combined with the slow throb behind his right eye and the sharp sting of air and teeth against his lip, was making him a mite tetchy.

Zoe had that skeptical look on her face, the one she wore when she thought he was being a gorram fool but knew he'd made up his mind already and arguing would be useless. She argued anyway. Always did, and he loved her for it even when it made him crazy. "You sure about this, sir?"

"Kinda late if I ain't."

She looked down at her hands, out the front window, and then met his gaze square. "Don't the good book have something to say about false idols?"

He sucked in a breath, surprised at how her words felt like knives. "Good book's got a lot to say about a lot of things," he said, "and none of it means a damn thing."

"Still," she said, with an uncomfortable shrug of one shoulder. "Don't seem right, somehow."

"They're all false idols."

"Sir--"

"Nothing but you and this," he tapped his gun, "and that boat mean a gorram thing, and you know it."

They never spoke of it again.

Serenity never let him down, not when he kept her up, cared for her like his own flesh and blood. Between her, Zoe and his gun, he thought he'd finally found his place in the 'verse. He'd taken on crew -- Wash and Kaylee and Jayne -- and they'd become his family (well, maybe not Jayne so much), worth fighting for more than any rutting principles or governments.

And if he was careful, no one would ever take Serenity away.

***

Kaylee almost gets lost in his kiss, in the way he touches her, so new and so good, his hands not rough but not gentle, just firm and knowing. He touches her the way she touches Serenity, and she knows that's what's led them to each other.

With a laugh, she breaks the kiss. "Trying to distract me, Cap'n?" she teases, slipping down his body, loving the feel of him against her, under, over and inside. She traces the black lines on his skin, knowing the shape as well as she knows her own name. "She's real pretty."

"Not as pretty as you right now," he answers, smiling. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and strokes his thumb along her cheek and over her lips. She nips at it and sucks it into her mouth for a moment before letting it go, laughing at his low growl. She feels a rush of wet heat between her thighs when he responds to her; it makes her feel wanted in ways all the pretty words in the 'verse can't match, which is good, because Mal ain't much for pretty words most of the time.

She licks at the tattoo before sliding her tongue along the line of his hipbone, and then down the inside of his thigh, enjoying the way he shivers and moans under her tongue. As she takes him in her mouth, she thinks next time she's in the world, she'll get one to match. Kaylee loves Serenity -- loved her before she loved him, and will go on loving her even if this thing between them don't work out. She thinks he'd understand.

end

***

xiâo péngyou = little friend
qingwa cào de liúmáng = frog-humping sumbitch(es?)
feiwu = junk

***

¹Yes, I understand it's really Nathan Fillion's tattoo and it's not of Serenity, but work with me here. *g*
² One line comes right from Out of Gas, and another is from Objects in Space. I think you'll recognize them. The biblical quote is Romans 8:31. Sort of.
³ Mandarin from here

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