simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

The ship isn't really any quieter than usual, he tells himself.

It's the truth: at this hour of ship's night, in their bunk with the door closed, it's always this quiet. There's the constant low hum of the engine, and the almost subliminal vibrations through the floor of River moving quietly about in her room across the hall, and little else. When there's no crisis aboard the ship, this level of quiet is normal.

It doesn't change anything.

Simon sits on the edge of the bed, his forgotten shirt hanging loosely from one hand, and stares at the far wall.

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"...Maybe. He's got no reason to be angry at you."

That's --

"He's got one to be angry at you?"

... he hadn't meant to say that. Aiya.

Simon closes his eyes for a moment.

"I was there, when --"

A breath.

"I said some things."

It's a near-superhuman act not to pinch the bridge of her nose.

(Clearly Kaylee has been hanging around Simon too long.)

"Should I ask what?"

It's a calm enough question.

"...Possibly not."

Kaylee is silent for a moment.

"You going to tell me?"

Also calm enough.

"Not that you got to. But if I'm gonna talk to him -- might help to know what it was you said made him mad."

A long silence.

Finally, just over a whisper: "Of course you're right."

...the word here is 'ouch'.

Kaylee rests her hands on his shoulders, and says, very quietly, smiling. "Always am." Beat. "It's gonna be okay. Whatever it is."

I hope so.

He draws a deep breath, and speaks, his eyes on his hands.

"I told you Niska was stabbed. Lost quite a lot of blood."

Kaylee says, still quiet, "Yeah."

"He'd lost consciousness, by the time Bernard was ready to take the others back to the cells. And I was coming up to find out what was going on, just as Bernard was looking around for ... for a doctor."

His face is pale and strained, as is his voice.

There are several possibilities. Some more fantastical than others. Some worse than others.

Kaylee keeps her hands on his shoulders, and her eyes on his face, and listens, because speculation and anticipation isn't going to help here. At all.

"And --"

His hands close on each other, in his lap.

"Kaylee, I couldn't."

"Couldn't, or wouldn't?"

It sounds too loud, to her. Too loud, and too careful.

His head comes up, and he turns to look at her.

"The last surgery I performed associated with Adelai Niska," he says very clearly, "was reattaching the captain's ear. You may recall."

There isn't any need for that. At all.

Which is why Kaylee's expression gets a little bit set as her hands slip off his shoulders.

"Not so much likely with the forgettin' that any time soon, no."

"And repairing a great deal more damage. Of which that was only the most obvious outward sign. Niska did that to Mal because he went back on a deal. And he did that to Wash because he was there. And he would do the same again, and more, to every one of us if he could. To make us an example.

"If I -- if I had Niska in my infirmary, under my hand --"

He swallows, and gropes for the next words.

And the next words --

(Kaylee's head rises, very slowly.)

-- the next words will be the important ones. The really important ones.

Won't they.

In a dry-leaf whisper: "I will not do that. Not ever."

The antecedent of that may be a little unclear.

"Do what?"

Sharper than she intends.

He meets her eyes directly.

Will you make me say it?

What he gets is Kaylee looking away, exasperated, mouth tight.

She slides off the bed and stands, arms folded.

"Kaylee..."

"No use forcin' what's not gonna come."

He flinches back as though she turned and slapped him.

And looks down, as though he feels he's deserved it.

"I don't know what else I could have done."