simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

Chittenden's behind them, Shadow ahead.

The mobile-clinic circuit on Chittenden used up some supplies; Simon's in the infirmary, late in the night shift, running down his checklists.

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No unless some fool irritates me; and the back of his neck relaxes a little more.

This doesn't, of course, mean she can't change her mind. And regardless, it probably wouldn't be wise to irritate her.

"May I ask you something?"

A small smile.

"You can ask."

"Why tell me this?"

He's got both hands resting on the back of the chair now; the tension in them isn't reflected in his direct gaze.

"Why come here to tell me this in person?"

She leans back a little, arms crossed.

After a while:

"I didn't want you to worry. I didn't want your sister to worry."

"...You didn't want me to --"

His reserve cracks for the first time, into bewilderment.

"That's ... bizarre. You're Death."

She smiles, wide this time, and shrugs.

"I like you guys."

"Is that why...?"

He's silent a moment, and starts again.

"You said you've ... done more than you should."

She looks down, now, hair covering her face.

"Yeah."

"'Should' according to what?"

"Common sense? There's rules, Simon. And there's guidelines. And there's things that you just shouldn't do, when you're... when you're in my position."

Things like get too attached. Too close.

"Your position."

Simon's frowning just a little.

"You're a personified force of nature. I don't think I can grasp your position in anything but the most general way."

She shrugs, a little.

"And it's bad, when a personified force of nature starts liking people, wouldn't you say? I mean. Liking people in general is one thing, but liking specific people? Not so good."

For a moment he doesn't say anything.

The thing is: he agrees. In principle. A force of nature shouldn't ... play favorites. Shouldn't be anything but consistent. Shouldn't change on a whim.

Shouldn't be a person.

That's not something you can say, or even think with any degree of comfort, when one of them is talking to you.

"That being said. This is the way it is."

If it wasn't, they wouldn't really have a pilot right now.

Nor a mechanic. How many times is it now, after all, that Dream has saved Kaylee?

There's the sticking point; there's the little hitch. He can't very well object to the Endless on purely ideological grounds only when they do something that hurts him.

"And you don't make the rules," he says quietly. "So who does?"

She just smiles.

"Please, I.... This isn't a rhetorical question."

Simon takes a step toward her, his hand leaving the chair back and falling to his side, his voice just a little tight with something that isn't anger. It might be frustration.

"Is there someone who makes the rules? Is there someone checking up to make sure you follow them? Or is it just ... consequences and, and laws of nature? Laws of metaphysics? If you don't make the rules, where do they come from?"

"Kiddo... there's stuff out there that even I don't want to look too closely at. And that's all I can tell you."

For a moment he wants to echo his earlier words -- that's bizarre; you're Death.

If the unfathomable is unfathomable to her --

In a strange way, that's almost comforting.

"I see."

His gaze drops away from her face. "Thank you."

There's a tiny sliver of a smile.

"Whatever for?"

He's not smiling, but when he looks up again his gaze is direct and clear.

"For coming to talk about this. In person."

"Well. You're welcome."

There's a ghost of a smile there somewhere.

There's a short pause.

That turns into a longer one.

"Ennis," he says finally, to the floor.

She bites her lip.

"Yeah."

The man does not have long.

"I'd make him comfy, if I were you."

"He won't let me do much else."

It's weary, more than bitter.