simon_doctor | In the Infirmary

In the Infirmary

Simon's keying back and forth through screens of data, almost too fast to read them. It hardly matters. He's read them all through before, pored over them, all but memorized them.

He's still hoping for one of the pieces here to fall into place and make all the other pieces make sense.

If he doesn't concentrate, he sees something else as well, superimposed over the data in lines of paler light: a rose, balanced with exquisite precision on a shining sword-blade, and his sister's proud sweet smile.

I could almost believe you.

He's not consciously aware of it, but sometime since saying that to Eddie, Simon's mind has quietly dropped the "almost."

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Clattering down the stairs from the kitchen is Wash, decidedly grim-faced, body drawn in over-taut lines. He's already started to move toward the passenger bunks when he spots Simon through the infirmiry window and halts there, watching him for a moment.

It's audible, the way he struggles to keep his voice level when he steps to just inside the threshold and says, "Simon, we need to talk."

Simon turns swiftly at the sound of Wash's voice, and stands even more swiftly at the look on his face.

"What's wrong."

"Eddie filled me in on what happened with River."

One hand clenches at his side. The other rises to drum out jittery, stacatto rhythms on the edge of the doorframe.

"About what she wants you to do with Anthy."

Simon looks at Wash uncertainly, as though waiting for him to get to the part where there's something wrong.

"...Yes?"

"You're not doing it here. I don't want to see her set one gorram foot on this ship so long as I'm flying it. Dŏng ma?"

Simon actually takes a half-step back at the other man's vehemence.

Then steps forward again, and lowers his voice.

"What's this about?"

Simon doesn't know.

It's something of a comfort, but not nearly enough to erase Wash's tension.

"She's dangerous, Simon. She's done things back there that -- Eddie told me that she was responsible for Nyarlathotep." A bright red spark flares up, and he adds, pitching his voice low to try and counteract the anger that's threatening to rise, "And if you think for one second that I'm going to let someone like that anywhere near my wife -- "

"Shénme?"

Simon puts both hands up, palms out, in a calming gesture Wash has probably seen before. "Wait, slow down. Responsible for what?"

As of a minute or so ago, River is sitting outside the infirmary, curled on the hallway floor. Below the window; whether it's intentional or not, neither Simon nor Wash will be able to see her without sticking a head out the door.

She leans her head against the wall, face distant and a little dreamy, and listens. Her fingers run absently over the grating of the floor, exploring it.

"Nyarlathotep. Ascenscion of the Lord of Nightmare, if you wanna get really formal. Which, let's see..."

He's sliding into sarcastic flippancy as he starts ticking off the events on his fingers.

"Turned everyone in the bar into insomniacs. Drove half of 'em crazy with waking nightmares. Sent Bernard out of his mind to the point where he had to be locked up 'cause he was a danger to himself and everyone else in the bar. You want me to go on? 'Cause I haven't even gotten to the part where I almost tried to kill a sixteen-year-old kid 'cause I thought he was Niska.

"I'm not letting her on the ship."

Simon's gone pale.

"Wait, I'm still working on the first part. You're telling me this teenaged girl is the Lord of Nightmares?"

And River's been talking to her oh god, is the unspoken second half of that.

"No, but she's the one who brought him into existence -- something about a magic rose, I didn't get all of it. Look, point is, none of that would've happened if she hadn't been there. Okay?" His gaze doesn't waver from Simon's.

"I see."

Simon leans back against the counter-cabinet, his eyes on Wash's face.

"And what exactly did Eddie tell you we were planning?"

River's fingers move across the spread skirt of her sundress, now, making folds and smoothing them out, feeling the texture of the cotton.

She listens.

Her face, expressionless and a little distant, has not changed.

"He said that River wants you to fix her. Whatever the hell that means, but I'm guessing it's got something to do with you using those genius doctoring skills of yours, which means using our illustrious infirmiry, which, like I've said, ain't gonna happen."

Simon doesn't move.

"As it happens, I don't even know if we can bring her here. I'd planned on trying to get diagnostic equipment from the Bar. But if that doesn't work, and I need something closer to the resources here?"

His voice, which has been mild, goes ... still more mild.

"She's my patient. I'm not going to bring her on board without the captain's permission, because it's his ship ... but if bringing her on board looks necessary, he's the only one whose permission I'll be asking."

Wash holds up both hands. The wide-eyed sarcasm on his face becomes just that more pronounced as he utters a sharp laugh.

"Hey, if you want to take it to Mal, go right ahead," he says. "But somehow -- I don't know, it's just an inkling I've got here, maybe I'm wrong -- he's not gonna want some dangerous little girl who drove his pilot crazy to get within ten miles of him or us. But what do I know? Not like I've been flying this boat for six years or anything. Not like it's not my home."

He's not gonna want some dangerous little girl --

Simon folds his arms across his chest. His eyes, and his voice, have gone very cold.

"Are you talking about Anthy or about my sister?"

"Am I -- what? Tā shì suŏyŏu dìyù de biăozi de mā, I'm talking about Anthy, Simon!"

River's head appears around the doorframe.

"Gotta be careful to clarify the antecedents," she says tranquilly. "Don't assume."

Simon's gaze flickers over to River, hovers there just long enough to be sure she's all right, and flicks back to Wash.

Wash jerks in surprise when River speaks, turning just far enough to look at her. When he answers, he's still watching her, but the words are directed at Simon. "For God's sake, it's not like...."

But that's not true. A butcher knife flashing across Jayne's chest: he looks better in red. A gun wavering in her hand: it's just an object.

Wielding a gorram sword and doing a damn fine job of it not two nights ago, from the sound of it.

He turns his eyes fully on Simon then, and finds he has nothing else to say.

"Hurts people," River says quietly. "I know. Doesn't always mean to. Never know what'll set her off."

Solemnly, "She doesn't plan consequences accurately."

Beat.

"Likes the tiny elephant."

Simon draws a deep breath.

"Look. I'm not going to let her --

"I'm not going to let Anthy hurt anybody. If I bring her here, if I bring her here, I'll take every possible precaution. I'll sedate her if need be.

"But if she's hurting people at Milliways because of her mental illness? And I can do something about it?"

It slips out without his realising it, carried on the last currents of anger --

"How do you know that you can?"

It flashes out of him, sharp and stinging as a slap: "I'm her doctor."

A pause, and the color slowly starts to come back to Simon's face. His voice is quieter.

"I don't know. That's exactly why I may need to bring her here. To find out."

Wash bows his head, shuts his eyes. One fist taps against the side of his thigh.

Softly, and weary now, he mumbles, "Yeah, well, I'd prefer if you found another way."

River's face, which went a little fierce when Wash questioned Simon's ability, smoothes out.

She curls a hand around the doorframe, and watches them.

"I will. If I can."

He pauses, and continues in a determinedly lighter tone:

"If only because I really don't want to try explaining the situation to the captain."

River giggles a little, silently. "Doesn't like swords. Too civilized. He's not the marryin' type."

He's nodding, still not looking up, though River's last words earn a soft, faintly amused snort. "Yeah."

A long beat. When he finally raises his head, the hardened edge is gone from his eyes, and the deep breath he takes shakes and hitches.

"Thank you."

Simon looks down.

"If, ah ... if you want to talk about it?"

Wash shakes his head. "Maybe some other time.

"I'll...let you get back to your -- your doctor-y things. Sorry I...."

He trails off. A few vague gestures are all that complete the sentence, and he turns, brushing past River as he leaves as quickly as he came.

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In the Infirmary

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