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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"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.

A letter from a young man on Boros is full of eloquent righteous indignation on River's behalf and fervent wishes for her continued safety and well-being. It ends with a plea to contact him if there's anything he, personally, can do to help.

Simon isn't sure whether that really is a little unsettling, or if it's just him.

Kaylee's pile gets smaller. Persephone, Osiris, Bernadette, Osiris, Londinium, Sihnon, Lavinia, Shadow --

Kaylee blinks at that one. Scans it. Generic glad it's over letter from somebody named Joachim Jackson. Nobody Kaylee has heard of. Keeper pile. She keeps going.

The last one is a short note from Trudy Kavalier from Parrish in the Georgia System. Also generic. Kaylee adds it to the appropriate pile and looks up at Simon.

Two-thirds are suitable; one-third isn't. "All done."

Simon hands her the one from Boros; he's finished the others. "What do you think about this one?"

She scans it.

"Bit...enthusiastic, ain't it?"

"Not just me, then." A half-smile. "I'm trying to decide if it's too enthusiastic, or if that's just how it sounds."

"Could always start a pile for ones to give her when she's feelin'..." How to put this. "A little more herself."

He considers it, turning the letter in his hand.

"That might work."

She stands, picking up both piles. "These are keepers." Holding them out. "And these...not so much."

He takes them, puts the questionable letter sideways across the top of the second stack, clips them together, and tucks them into a drawer.

The first stack, the keepers, he combines with his own before clipping them together and placing them neatly in the center of the desk. "There -- I'll give them to River tomorrow."

"Sounds like a plan." Her hands rest on her hips.

She's not going to bring up the other letters. One last chance for him to keep them to himself.