simon_doctor (
simon_doctor) wrote2006-10-04 10:38 pm
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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.
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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"For coming to talk about this. In person."
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There's a ghost of a smile there somewhere.
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That turns into a longer one.
"Ennis," he says finally, to the floor.
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"Yeah."
The man does not have long.
"I'd make him comfy, if I were you."
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It's weary, more than bitter.
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It's halfway a question.
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And that is a smile, right there. A real one. Wide as the 'verse.
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"And you..."
It's hard to put the words to it, but not for the usual reason; not because he can't find them.
"When he dies. You'll be there."
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That's what she does, what she is.
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He takes a breath, and hesitates before saying it.
"I've never lost a patient before."
To the floor again: "I don't know if this counts."
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It is what it is.
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"It's my job, though. To keep people from dying."
That's what he does. What he is.
"Does that ... I'm not sure how to say this. Doesn't that put us in opposition?"
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"Everyone dies, Simon. It's just a matter of when."
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Everyone gets the same thing. One lifetime.
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What he says instead, meeting her eyes directly again, is:
"I'm not going to stop fighting you."
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This is as it should be.
She loves him, as she loves them all.
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That's ... not something he expected. Nor is the undisguised affection in the word.
There's a small sound from near the infirmary -- just one of the usual quiet creaks of the ship in the night watches, he recognizes a moment later, but it's enough to make him glance in that direction.
When he looks back, she's gone.