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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"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.

"It's getting late ... do you want to get ready for bed?"

A beat.

"And then I can show you my letters?"

"Yeah." Quiet. "Sounds good."

He reads Dunash's letter aloud to her, when they're in bed, finds his voice falling unconsciously into his old classmate's cadences.

In the holopic from graduation, you can barely see him: a dark young man with a high forehead and a short, unfashionable beard.

Kaylee listens. Not just surface listening. She finds herself looking for something -- she's not even sure what. Reassurance that the writer means Simon well, maybe. The kind of thing you understand, but can't truly comprehend from words on a page.

The fact that he starts the letter with Are you all right? earns the writer points, and lots of them.

Kaylee remembers the name: one of the members of the mysterious mixed party, with the sake and the singing and the statue. She knows the first names of everyone in the picture, and no other details -- except that Liz and Jordie brought the sake.

Listening to Simon read the letter, Kaylee observes to herself that sometimes it's easy to forget just how much there is about Simon that she doesn't know. He hasn't told her, and she hasn't asked. And it's not something to feel good or bad about, either. It is what it is.

Her head shifts a little on the pillow as she listens.

The one from Liz is ... really very, very short. And uninflected. Pleased to hear and best wishes and almost nothing else.

Simon broods on that for a moment after finishing reading it. "She's usually a lot more ... talkative than this. Or she was."

"Maybe she didn't know what to say." Quiet.

Because really: what do you say, in a situation like this? Especially when there's some near-unfathomable code for behavior?

Kaylee bets the art of the "congratulations on not being thrown in jail for the rest of your life" letter isn't covered.

"Maybe. That's not like her, though." Frowning a little.

"Unless ... I wonder if she's still annoyed at me."

"Would she have bothered writin', if she was?"

Beat.

"And I'm dyin' of curiosity but I'm gonna be good and not ask. Unless this counts as askin'. But I'm not."

This last is said a lot faster, and a little sheepishly.

It's enough to make him smile.

"Probably not. And it's nothing all that mysterious, just ... I was short with her, the last time we talked. And then I wasn't answering anyone's waves for months, and she tends to take that kind of thing personally."

His fingers trace the edge of the paper, absently.

"And, of course, she didn't know what was going on. None of them did. That was the whole point."