simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

[The morning after this.]

Simon's in the kitchen, still a little distracted, stirring a pot of rice porridge.

It's one of the few things he can reliably cook without screwing up.

Breakfast, heigh-ho.

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At some point, Simon may notice his little sister peering over his shoulder.

Well. Around his shoulder, anyway. Simon, like most people, is significantly taller than River.

She's watching his spoon with interest.

It's not doing anything terribly interesting. Just going around and around in circles.

Not unlike Simon's train of thought, just now, if he lets it.

He turns to River with a not entirely forced smile. "Morning, meimei."

"Yes," River says absently to the spoon.

Maybe Simon doesn't think it's terribly interesting.

The rice porridge is almost ready, anyway.

Simon turns down the heat under it, and rummages in a cupboard for bowls.

River watches him rummage, head tilted. She has a vague, distracted air; she may or may not be quite seeing him.

And then she blinks, and looks confused -- and now she's focusing on him.

A moment, and then he looks up at her, a little uneasily.

"What is it?"

River's expression is shading gradually from 'confused' to 'troubled.'

"Simon," she says, and lifts a hand halfway in an uncertain gesture before letting it fall back to her side.

He takes a step towards her, one hand going out hesitantly.

"It's okay."

River's hand lifts to ghost through the air just over his jaw.

Softly, "It wasn't."

An instant later, she looks faintly surprised to hear her own voice, and then focuses on his face again, waiting for his response.

A small sigh, a little resigned.

"No, it wasn't."

A pause, then carefully: "What do you see?"

River's gaze falls.

Whispered, "You're shouting."

"You're angry. And, and you're not, and-- you're not."

She glances up at him, confused and worried.

"I was. It ... it's hard to explain."

"Mal," she whispers.

A swift glance over her shoulder; no one's there.

"He's still there."

"He's mad."

"Yes."

River's gaze skitters from one thing to another in the vicinity of her brother's shoulder. Her face is shadowed with worry and uncertainty, shoulders hunching a little forward.

"River ... " He puts a hand on her arm. "It's okay."

"Wasn't," she says again, softly.

"He's under a great deal of stress right now. It'll pass."

He steps beside her, draws her further into the kitchen, hands her a bowl. "Come on. Have some breakfast. It'll be all right."

River takes the bowl automatically, both hands curling around the smooth surface. "Yes," she tells it vaguely.

Beat.

She glances up at Simon, face clearing suddenly. With a tiny smile, "You made porridge."

He smiles back. "...Yes, I did."

And hastily moves the pot off the heat before it scorches, and begins ladling porridge into a bowl.

And it's tasty, too.

But when River wanders away after breakfast, leaving Simon to do the dishes, she just might have a specific destination in mind.

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