simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

Simon's gone over it in his head a dozen times, written it out and studied it as intently as though expecting to find a code hidden in it.

~~I'm going to~~ I think I should stay down here till she wakes up.

He's almost sure that's what he wrote, at the time. And he's quite sure that's when Kaylee's mood changed. You didn't have to cross it out, she'd said, or similar; and he'd said, I know.

And that upset her, and he doesn't know why.

Which is the main reason he's hesitating outside the door to the engine room.

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Crack.

Kaylee's hands rest in her lap.

"Nothin'," she says finally, "that needs apologizin' for."

That's not the same as an unqualified nothing, is it.

His gaze drops, not as far as his own hands, but as far as hers.

Low-voiced: "Does that mean you don't want to tell me what it was?"

"That's what that means."

No heaviness, no air of finality.

"I wish you would," he says, quietly, unhappily.

She shrugs, a little roughly. "I'm not mad. Things're fine."

A short silence.

"I could take that at face value," he says, a little unsteadily, "or I could press the issue, and right now I think either of those would be the wrong thing to do, but ... I don't know what other options I have."

"And if I keep sayin' things are fine, how likely are you to believe me?"

Speaking quietly, with no sense of ruefulness.

... oh, there's no possible good answer to that.

"I'll stop talking about it if you want me to. I just ..."

One hand spreads open, palm up, and closes on itself.

I don't know what to do.

"Simon." She stretches, twists a little, cracks her neck. "It's nothin' you need to worry about. Can swear that on whatever you want. I'm not mad, no harm done, we can go ahead and get on with life."

Kaylee's sitting crosslegged on the deckplates, hair a messy pile, back straight, shoulders slouched a little forward.

And her face is ... neutral. Matter-of-fact.

His hands come down, and curl around the edge of the crate he's sitting on.

(The crate's a little dusty. He hasn't really noticed.)

"It's not that I think you're mad," he tries one last time. "It's just ... there's a difference between 'you're not mad' and 'everything's fine,' and ..."

He swallows.

"It doesn't seem like everything's fine. Is it me? Am I imagining things?"

She's silent for a moment, gaze flicking down to his shoes.

Then, slow: "You don't have to pretend you're not puttin' River first. Because she should come first. It -- doesn't bother me."

And up, again.

"Pretendin' does."

"I ... when was I ...?"

~~I'm going to~~ I think I should, he'd written.

Kaylee doesn't want to go through all of this.

Her eyes close.

She says, almost as though reciting, "You crossed out that you were gonna stay downstairs. If you're gonna do somethin', go on and do it. There's no call for you to change that around. 'Specially when it's about you lookin' out for River."

Pause.

"It's like you don't think I'm gonna understand."

"Kaylee..."

The edge of the crate bites into his fingers.

"That's not what I meant by it at all. I was trying -- "

Frustration.

It's ridiculous that it should be harder to put things into words now than it was when they couldn't speak at all.

Her eyes open. She's not looking at him.

She's waiting.

"I was trying not to be ... brusque about it. It wasn't a situation where I needed to say that's my decision, that's what I'm doing. There are enough of those. I thought...."

He runs a hand over the back of his neck.

"I thought I was offering you a voice in the matter."

His mouth twitches a moment later at the irony of his choice of words.

And she doesn't say anything else, for a while.

"Surprised me." Finally. "When you asked me to help sort out River's letters. We all look after her, I know that, but -- we all know you're the one in charge, by yourself, when it comes to the things that're even halfway important. That's how it is. I didn't think that'd ever change at all. Not even that little bit."

Simon just looks at her, for a moment.

"By myself," he repeats helplessly.

"Kaylee, for the longest time there just wasn't anyone else. I was in charge of her, alone, because I had to be. And I still have to be in charge, but...."

Beat.

"I'd hoped to start being a little less alone in it."

She flinches.

And without looking at him, stands, and circles around to the crate, where she sits behind him.

And wraps her arms around his stomach, and lowers her head against his shoulder.

Muffled: "I'm sorry."

He turns, just the little bit necessary to put his arms around her.

"Ai ren," he murmurs against her hair.

"Just that..."

She lifts her head. Rests her right hand on his shoulder, by his neck.

"Things keep changin' now that we don't have to stay on the run. And I don't know -- what you want me to do, what you want me to stay out of. With River, with letters, with your folks -- any of that."

He studies her.

"I ... can't think of anything in particular I want you to stay out of."

Beat.

"Is there anything you don't want to be involved in?"

"I don't know." Soft. "I'll at least try to do whatever you want, but...I got to know what you want for that to do any good. It's -- if you're tryin' to give me more of a voice in things -- I didn't know that's what you wanted."

That last is said with just a little bewilderment.

"And I maybe should've, but...things've changed. Is all."

(A lot can change in a year.)

"Things've changed," he nods. "They're still changing."

(Or in ten minutes, sometimes.)

"We'll have to keep ... keep talking about things, I guess. As they change. As we become aware of them."

Kaylee nods.

And pauses.

And says, "Assumin' we can talk."