simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

...It's a rabbit.

A stuffed plush cartoon rabbit, holding a shiny red stuffed plush valentine heart in its front paws. A heart embroidered with a rhyme and a postscript that could only be from one of two people, and is probably the second.

Simon waits until he's sure Kaylee is busy in the engine room, and carefully closes the door to their bunk, before waving the first.

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It's a minute or two before Crowley answers; when he does, it's with a large plant-mister in one hand, and in the process of tugging a green rubber glove off the other with his teeth.

"Wèi, he approximates around his finger, looking pleased, and then " - ow," as the glove snaps him gently in the face.

It has been noted before that Simon has an occasional tendency to start conversations in the middle, skipping over the parts with hello and how have you been.

"Would you know anything about a package sent to my attention care of Serenity? With a ... stuffed animal in it?"

"Yep," he says.

Unhelpfully.

"...Well."

A beat.

"That's good."

I think, says his tone.

Crowley disposes of the glove, setting it aside with the plant mister.

His mild grin hasn't shifted.

~~A tumbleweed rolls by.~~

"...Can I ask why you sent me a stuffed plush rabbit holding an embroidered heart?"

"Oh, not me," he explains. "I'm merely a... conduit."

His expression can best be described as... beatific.

Simon's expression, in contrast, can perhaps best be described as ... resigned.

"You're enjoying this."

"Well, I like to see people keeping in touch."

"This ... I never got his full name. Chao. Is he ... well, obviously you think he can be trusted to some extent, or you wouldn't have had him carry a message to me...."

A beat.

"How did you manage that, anyway?"

"Nepotism," he says brightly.

...all right, he won't ask for details.

"But ... well, he seemed like a decent human being. If possessed of a ... rather skewed sense of humor."

Beat.

"Which I think is what I'm trying to ask. Is this another example of the skewed sense of humor, or is he trying to tell me something?"

"Well."

He shifts slightly from one foot to the other, expression sobering slightly.

"I wouldn't - I couldn't really say, you know? I wouldn't want to, you know, infer anything, or..." he shrugs a little. "I mean, you'd know better than I would, with - whatever went on on the Kelowna."

Simon frowns, in thought.

"What did he say to you when he arranged for it?"

"Well, mostly he was asking after you," Crowley says, running a hand through his hair. "You guys've been pretty low-profile, and all, and he hadn't been able to find - I suppose he was just worried. Anyway, I told him you were fine, and safe, and he just..." another shrug. "He asked if I could get a message through to you."

"...I'm guessing it was just a joke, then. By way of a hello."

Simon shakes his head a little.

"Did I mention the skewed sense of humor?"

"Sure," he says. "A joke."

There's something about the way Crowley's saying that....

"Do you think it isn't?"

"I'm just saying," he says, spreading his hands. "He was pretty keen to know how you were doing. I didn't like to ask, and all, but... yeah."

A pause.

A longish pause. A pause of sudden uneasy speculation.

And Simon's face says: oh, no.

"His name is Ed, by the way," Crowley says into the silence. "Edward Chao."

"He was --"

One of Simon's hands goes to the back of his neck, in his old nervous gesture.

"He was flirting at me, at one point. It, I assumed it was facetious."

"...Yeah. Well, wŏ dŏng, but that's not always a thing you can just make assumptions about, you know?"

Surely not. With the -- oh, surely not.

"...do you think he was serious?"

"Like I said, I don't want to make any assumptions, either - and you were there, not me. Just, you know."

Crowley meets Simon's eyes, frank and serious.

"You don't want to be dismissing Ed Chao out of hand."

He shakes his head. "No, I ... I'm aware we owe him a great deal, but ..."

A pause.

"...Why do you say that?"

Crowley snorts suddenly, quietly - a little wry.

"Gāoyáng zhōng de gūyáng. I can't even remember how long it's been since I've been the family member to give the What Are Your Intentions talk. But there you go, that's the way it goes, isn't it?"

And just as quickly, the humour is gone, replaced once more with a sober, deadly seriousness.

"I don't like to see any of me and mine hurt or unhappy, dŏng ma?"

...he can't be serious.

He can't be serious.

It's several seconds before Simon can formulate a reply, and another second or two before he can say it.

"Would you like to be the one to break it to him gently that I'm --" He stops his voice from rising into sharpness, and finishes with a gesture at the ring on his left hand: "--unavailable?"

There's a chiming sound - Crowley's front door - and he glances briefly towards the noise before looking back as Simon finishes.

"Oh, Simon," he says, shaking his head, even as he raises his hand to the screen. "When has that ever stopped a Wrangle?"

The transmission ends with a quiet bloop.

"Stopped a --?"

It's too late; he's talking to an empty screen.

Well.

Much is becoming clear now, isn't it.

Aiya.

(CUT TO:

"Eheheheh," Crowley says, turning from the screen to address the empty room at large. "Oh, I'm a bad person."

Hands in his pockets, and whistling a jaunty tune, he saunters off to answer the door.)

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