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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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."

It's the first time Kaylee can remember realizing how lonely it must have been.

Kaylee watches his hands for a moment before touching one.

"Maybe," she says, quietly, "you might want to write her first."

His hand turns gently under her touch, fingers curling upward and lacing through hers.

"Maybe," he repeats quietly.

Her thumb moves slowly over the back of his hand, and for a moment that's all.

Then:

"Hard for me to know what to say here if I can't tell what you're thinkin'." With half a smile.

"Sorry. ...It's a little hard for me to know what to think," he admits.

Pause.

"How would you..." He trails off, and starts over. "We don't have to decide right now, but how would you feel about going to the Core for a visit? Sometime?"

For the space of a moment Kaylee is very still.

Slowly, "I'll back you on it, but you're the one gets to bring it up with the captain. Is all I'm sayin'."

"I know that's likely to be an issue, but ... what I'm asking is, all other things being equal, how would you feel about it?"

His gaze comes up from their joined hands to her face.

"I was talking with Dad, when he brought these ... they're going to have a, an event of some kind, when they find a new house on Londinium. A party. And ... they'd like to invite us."

Her gaze has dropped to their hands.

Once upon a time, Kaylee and Simon's father had a falling-out. About his political aspirations, as a matter of fact. One that Eddie Dean helped them resolve, because they both agreed -- Simon and River didn't need to know. It ended well enough, in her mind.

And then, two weeks ago, they'd had a conversation. The only other person she'd been able to spill anything to was Ennis.

She owes it to Gabriel and Regan Tam to try.

At the same time, she also owes it to them not to be an embarrassment.

(What Kaylee isn't wondering: when the idea of a fancy party became something frightening at worst, and an unwelcome prospect at best.)

Finally, very soft: "Is Crowley gonna be there?"

Crowley handled it last time. Crowley can do anything.

"It's likely. I don't know for certain -- they don't even know yet when it's going to be."

Beat.

"We don't have to decide yet. And if we decide we don't want to ... it's okay if we don't. I just, I wanted ... I thought I'd ask."

"I'm okay with it, if he's comin'." Pause. "And if -- if I can talk to him some beforehand."