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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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."

Softly: "All right."

A pause.

"I should probably mention," and his voice is suddenly wry, "that the prospect of attending a high-society dinner party at my parents' comes very close to filling me with terror."

That gets a smile that skirts the borders of relieved. "Good to know it's not just me."

He presses her hand, and then lets go of it to straighten the letters in his lap and set them down on the bedside shelf.

"So," a little briskly, "tomorrow: answer those, and bring River hers. And talk to the captain about ... things." A half-beat. "Anything else on our schedule?"

"Don't look at me," says Kaylee, airily. "I'm not your public relations person."

Look at that sweet and innocent face, Simon. How can you be mad at that face.

Especially when Kaylee is trying hard not to laugh.

Simon ... is also trying hard not to laugh.

It's a futile struggle, really. Doomed in the end.

Oh good.

Kaylee waits a suitable three-second interval before saying, "'Course, I could go get Jayne right now..."

... yeah, he's lost it.

And thus it is with a cheerful sense of satisfaction that Kaylee reaches over Simon's head to turn off the lights.

"But I'm thinkin' it can wait until mornin'." She settles back. "Night, ai ren."

As the laughter subsides, he leans in to kiss her, and then stretches out under the covers.

"Goodnight, xin gan."

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