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.

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"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."

"Come to think of it..." A wide grin. "Me neither."

And then he's laughing, a little shakily -- partly at the situation, but mostly out of sheer emotional release.

Kaylee's on her feet then, and standing next to him. "What's so funny?" An arm around his shoulders.

And pretty close to laughing herself.

He swallows the last of the laughter and beams up at her.

"You tell me."

"You started laughin' first." She bends and kisses the top of his head.

"Just ... I think this is the first time I've had good news for someone and no idea how to tell them."

A pause, and he sobers a little.

"It's not -- you understand, there's still a lot we'll have to work out."

"Always is." A little wry. "Want to get into specifics?"

"Right now? ...Not especially."

He looks back at the desk, reminded.

"We do already have a project for tonight."

"...point." She shoots him an easy grin, and retreats to her former position on the floor. "We work before we...do somethin' else that's probably gonna count as work."

That would be Kaylee laughing at herself.

"We can always take a break in between."

He's still smiling.

Somehow the evening's task doesn't seem nearly as grim as it did twenty minutes ago.

Kaylee picks up the sheaf of papers, straightening them as she does.

And says, thoughtfully, "Speakin' of playin'. You think we should ask River if she maybe wants to spend some time out at the house next time we get a chance?"

It's like the bar in that there's an outdoors, and an indoors, and it's a change of scenery.

But it's not crowded, either literally or figuratively.

He looks up, and starts to smile.

"I think that's a good idea."

A pause.

"We'd have to keep a close eye on her, but ... yes."

"Shiny."

The orange-blossom lock shifts a little against her wrist. Kaylee almost wants to suggest that they finish this out there.

But it's not the best idea, she knows.

Meantime: letters to go over.

A companionable quiet descends, broken only by riffling paper; a period of reading, punctuated by brief glances at each other.

An eight-year-old girl in Sihnon City hopes River will get better.

A seventy-three-year-old grandmother of four from Spartanburg, on Spurrier, sends River her best wishes for the future, and hopes that her experience with the Alliance won't...

...sour her on the benefits of federalized government...?

Kaylee makes a face at that one, and puts it in the Nice try, but no pile.

On the other hand, a dance instructor from Freeman, on Osiris, writes that he remembered seeing a recital of hers when she was thirteen, when she'd had a solo performance, and sends his compliments.

That one goes in the Keeper pile.