simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

[After this.]

He reads through the personal ones first, sitting at the small writing desk in his bunk. Skims them, really: the letter from Dunash, the formal but (he feels) sincere note from one of the head doctors from his residency, the worryingly few words of congratulation from Liz. He'll want to reread those later, in all likelihood, taking more time.

Second, he turns his attention to the stack of letters to River.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Dry: "Oh, he's as amused as everybody else."

Simon is still persistently unamused by the whole thing.

She moves her hand from the chair back to his shoulder, and squeezes. "Nothin' there's not true except you're available, right?"

He pauses, and says carefully: "Some of it's ... overstated. Or misleading. Or poorly put. But ... no, none of it's actually false."

Beat.

"Except the part about being a bachelor."

"Well." A small, vaguely impish grin. "After you're through here...reckon you can work on a correction letter, maybe." Kaylee nods to the letters. "But that means gettin' through here."

"Yes." He picks up one of the clipped-together sheafs of paper.

"These are the ones that were sent to River. I want to read through them before I pass them on to her."

Back into the land of not quite so funny.

Kaylee nods. "Makes sense."

It's hard to put words to, but Kaylee feels, obscurely, that this is...strictly Simon's business, to share or not. It's not that life before Serenity is a giant mystery to be unraveled. It's more that the two of them came on board as travelers, almost out of nowhere, and asking about what came before is kind of like asking questions about Mal's past: you just don't do it. Mostly because it wouldn't exactly be tactful.

And now that it's almost -- almost -- safe to ask questions...she's leery. This is his business. He doesn't read the letters from her parents unless she offers. It's the same kind of thing.

He studies her for a moment, and speaks; a little tentatively, but only a little.

"Do you ... would you want to help me go through them? I, I just want to make sure ... I don't want to give her anything that'll upset her."

"Yeah." Quiet. "If you want me to -- "

"Yeah."

Simon knows better than Kaylee what might upset River.

This is a show of trust, and one that surprises her, a little.

He unclips the papers, divides the stack into two roughly equal stacks, and passes one of them to Kaylee.

"None of these were from names Dad recognized," he adds.

She takes them, and settles on the floor beside the bed, back against the post.

(Sometimes you just want a change of scenery. Especially when doing otherwise would involve taking off your boots.)

"...meanin' he did recognize some?"

"A few that came for me, yes."

He's studying the page before him.

"I can show you those afterwards, if you'd like."

"If you want to."

She's looking at the first page without seeing it.

Softly: "I think I do."

He looks up, trying to catch her eyes.

It works.

A smile. A we're okay kind of smile.

He returns the smile. Can't not.

But as his gaze falls back to the page in front of him, he says -- still soft, and a little blank -- "This is so strange."

"What is?" She's sitting crosslegged, the papers in her lap, her hands resting on her knees.

"All of this. I never...."

One hand lifts and drops in a vaguely helpless gesture, and he tries again. "I wasn't sure clearing our names would ever be possible. I'd hoped, but ... I never thought we'd go from being wanted fugitives to, to being celebrities."

Raw incredulity on that last word.

"It's...a hell of a shift." Quiet. Matter-of-fact. "And it's gonna take gettin' used to. Like -- " Her smile is sudden, and a little rueful. "Like bein' here did."

"Being here."

He smiles, and glances around at the room, and by extension at the ship beyond its walls.

"I remember when I thought I'd never get used to this. This ship, this ... life."

"It maybe took a while." Her head rests against the post. "But it -- worked. You made it work."

"And now I d--"

He stops.

When he starts again, his voice has gone a little wondering.

"I don't want to leave."

It's the first time he's articulated that in so many words, either aloud or to himself; not as a question of feasibility, or of what would be better for whom, but simply of what he wants.

For the space of two seconds Kaylee simply stares at him.

And then -- and then she's beaming.

Because of what he said. And because she knows he means it.

It's another two seconds before she says, "I think we could arrange that."

The letters lie forgotten on the desk.

See the bird with a leaf in her mouth
After the flood all the colors came out

He doesn't understand this. Doesn't understand why this sudden feeling of peace, of --
Touch me / Take me to that other place
well.
Teach me / I know I'm not a hopeless case
He doesn't want to leave. And how much sense does that make?
What you don't have, you don't need it now
He'd said it himself. Said it to Kaylee, months ago. I can't exactly work at a high-end hospital and live on Serenity at the same time.
What you don't know, you can feel somehow
And she'd answered him: I go where you do.
What you don't have, you don't need it now
This is the life you chose.
You don't need it now
And it's about damn time you had the same chance.

He doesn't understand the achingly broad grin spreading across his face.

He doesn't need to.

It was a beautiful day

What she doesn't say:

I never thought I'd hear you say that.

What she does say:

"Might want to think about a way to let the captain know."

When she's not consciously thinking about it, Kaylee doesn't call him Mal. And Mal -- he could use some good news.

And if this isn't good news, Kaylee really has no idea what good news is.

"I ... yes."

A pause.

"...I have no idea how."