simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

A day passes quietly, and gradually Kaylee starts to spend more time awake than asleep.

They play cards. He reads to her, several chapters at a time. They spend nearly three hours going through the music library, playing aloud anything that catches their interest.

Taking a shower proves difficult, but no more so than expected; they'd had the foresight to arrange for a chair.

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He looks up from the desk chair and sets his datareader immediately aside, standing up to move closer and take her arm.

"How're you doing, xin gan?"

"Damp," she says, and the smile she gives him is tight.

A shower means lots of moving around, comparatively, and it's been a while since her last painkiller.

He lifts a curl of wet hair free of the collar of her bathrobe, and offers his arm for support.

She takes it, and has to take a moment to make sure she's balanced.

It's the heat that's thrown her off a little, she figures. That, and all the movement. "Where're we headed?"

Simon holds still until he's sure she's steady.

"That depends. Do you feel like lying down again, or would you rather sit up?"

"I could sit up a while." A quick, soft sigh, and the hand not holding onto his arm pushes some of the wet hair out of her face. "Just -- " Beat. "I'm hurtin'. A bit."

The last part is rushed, a qualifying statement. Something to make it seem like it's not as bad as it is.

"You're about due another painkiller, if you want it."

Said mildly, almost casually. As befits a suggested solution to a problem that isn't really all that bad.

"Think I might."

It's just -- it's hard, letting people take care of you. She's not good at it. Probably never will be. Because nobody should have to worry.

She's working on it.

Carefully over to the bed, carefully maneuvering into a sitting position. The pillows are already arranged against the wall, which makes it easier.

The bottle of pills is near to hand; he opens it, hands it to her, pours a glassful from the pitcher of water on the bedside table.

The polish on her toenails -- pink, and faintly iridescent -- is a little chipped, Kaylee observes -- and then Simon hands her the glass, and she takes the pill, and hands him back the glass.

"At least I'm gonna get fun here in a bit." Resigned, and a little amused.

Simon tucks another straggling curl away from her face, and drops a light kiss on her temple.

The gesture is spoiled a bit by his fingers catching in a wet tangle, and he has to stop and carefully extricate them without pulling her hair.

"It's the hair that ate Osiris," Kaylee informs him. Grinning.

"Someone should alert the Feds," he murmurs dryly.

And makes an attempt to smooth the tangle out with his fingers.

"Ought to get it cut, next time there's a chance." Also a little resigned. "Take some of the fight out of it."

"It's not really all that unruly."

(Says the man who takes care of River's hair.)

"Just damp, at the moment."

"Says the man who's yet to get part of it stuck on metal bits," says Kaylee, wryly, and she shrugs a little. "I'll get it dealt with. At some point."

"Hăo."

The tangle finally comes unknotted.

Kaylee watches the process.

Says, quiet, "I can deal with it when it dries."

He blinks up at her in mild surprise. "Isn't it harder to work with when it's dry?"

River's usually is.

She nods, and shrugs, one-shouldered. "Just...like to think we don't need to stoop to something boring as gettin' tangles out." Rueful.

"We don't need to," he says, idly twining the lock of hair around his finger. "Did you want to finish that shakuhachi concert we were listening to before?"

"Could," she says, and almost rests her head on his shoulder before she remembers -- wet hair. "Sorry." A little sheepish.

Simon smiles, and gets up to go get the player from the next room.

When he comes back in and sits back down beside her, he's carrying the player in one hand and Kaylee's hairbrush in the other.

"Here," and he passes her the player, and settles his back against the pillows next to her.

Kaylee fiddles with it, and as the music starts up, she gives him a sidelong look. It's a little inquisitive.

He turns the hairbrush in his hand, and says a little hesitantly: "Would you like me to...?"

The sidelong look turns into a smile, and she nods. Quiet: "Yeah."

The bamboo flute's song darts up and down like a hovering bird, as Simon carefully takes a handful of her damp hair and starts to brush through it in long gentle strokes.

They're both calming. Soothing.

Peaceful.

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