A.N. One of my friends asked if there was anyone in the Firefly cast I hadn’t beat-up, maimed, tortured, and/or killed in one of my stories… Simon was next on the chopping block. Here’s a one shot in which Simon is (ironically) shot once. Co-inspired by one of TamSibling’s comments in the Namesake series, believing Simon would be a very loving and attentive father. As this story attests, I do agree.

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Running. Running toward him. No time to think, only to act. Protect. Desperately protect. The gunshot exploded in his ears, but did not ring half so loud as the cry of his son. “Dad!” The impact felled Simon to the ground, hot searing pain in his shoulder, blood lubricating the asphalt as he slid to a halt and his head hit the pavement. The single word ‘Dad’, driving his own plea for help as his body fell into shock. His son’s face, hazel eyes, stringy blonde hair, grimy with street filth, sweat, and tears, floated across his vision as his eyes closed. Calling him, dad. Dad. Come back. Simon’s breathing stilled, his limbs numb. Numb as the day he’d first held his son in his hands and promised to give him everything. Just as his own father had promised. Just as his own father had tried, no matter what the cost. Simon knew he had been a spoiled child, but with his father, it was more than that. In school, when the teachers would discipline him, his dad always had his back. He had taken that unconditional love for granted, because he’d never known any other love. No conditions. Until River. The one thing he felt he needed to do more desperately than anything else in his life was the one thing his father absolutely forbid. But Simon Tam had disobeyed his father before. And his father had come. So Simon was not surprised that his father bailed him out after his first arrest. He held his chin up, ready to be berated, waiting for his customary chance to tell his side, but this time was different. He could see in his father’s eyes, a door was closing. And he fought to get his own word in before the door shut completely. Or at least the right words. Damn his quick, sarcastic tongue! Why didn’t his father want to help him?! “I won’t come for you again.” Simon’s thoughts froze as his father’s words hit him like a shot to the gut, sending him reeling. He’d said it quickly; maybe he didn’t mean it. But no. Dad was still talking – clarifying. Finality. “I will not come for you.” Thump. Thump. Simon could hear every slow beat of his heart as the foundation of his entire strength was yanked out from under him. He set his jaw, grounding himself on the certainty of River’s message – of her plea for help. No one would come for her now, but him. Thump. Thump. “Dad!” his son whimpered again. "You shouldn't have come." Simon could feel pressure on his shoulder. Sharp pain. Slick blood. Cold air invading his lungs. His heart was slowing. Life was ebbing from him. Daddy will come. Daddy will come. He could almost hear River’s sweet reassuring voice. Simon squinted and breathed, trying to look one last time at his son before consciousness flowed out on the current of his blood. Raising a bloody hand to touch his son’s cheek, he whispered as firmly as his weakened heart would allow. “I will always come for you.”

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