(no subject)

[simon_doctor]

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.

Comments

[simon_doctor]

A beat, as he assimilates that.

"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."

[locks_it_up]

"I will."

That's what she does, what she is.

[simon_doctor]

"I..."

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."

[locks_it_up]

"There's a first time for everything. Hell, it might not count. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

It is what it is.

[simon_doctor]

A rather sharp glance up, at that, until he's sure she isn't mocking him.

"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?"

[locks_it_up]

She's not one for mocking.

"Everyone dies, Simon. It's just a matter of when."

[simon_doctor]

"And the when ... doesn't make a difference to you, in general."

[locks_it_up]

"Generally? Not really."

Everyone gets the same thing. One lifetime.

[simon_doctor]

It does to us, he wants to say. But she knows that already.

What he says instead, meeting her eyes directly again, is:

"I'm not going to stop fighting you."

[locks_it_up]

"Good."

This is as it should be.

She loves him, as she loves them all.

[simon_doctor]

Good.

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.