simon_doctor | (no subject)

Jordie unwinds his scarf, but leaves it hanging around his neck. "And what interesting developments have there been in the life of Simon Tam in the last few weeks?"

"Let's see. Passed the first round of exams. Took Kaylee out to Bar Harbor to celebrate -- you know, that new aerial restaurant in the Milian district?"

He gestures toward the living room, and the couch.

"Swank," Jordie says, eyebrows raised, as he lowers himself to sprawling comfortably on the couch. "How was it?"

"It was ... " A small crooked smile, not entirely happy, as he settles into the armchair. "Swank. May not have been the wisest choice."

"No," Jordie agrees. There's not much of a need for him to say more; he knows why. "But you passed. That's good."

He considers saying more, and doesn't.

"It's pretty grueling," he says instead. "Even considering that I'm out of practice."

"Fairly condensed, though, isn't it? The kind of thing that you'd get in a year or more."

"Exactly. More intensive than what we used to get." Half a beat, and he adds "It's fascinating stuff, though. And important."

"I'd think so," Jordie says mildly. "Considering our imaging unit was a long time ago."

Simon nods, and rubs the side of his neck. "At any rate. I owe you two things, and I'm hoping to take care of both of them tonight."

"And what two things would those be?" Jordie's hand rests on the arm of the couch, fingertip tracing a pattern on the upholstery.

"Dinner," he says, and reaches to pick up his datareader from the coffee table. On its screen: four overlapping takeout menus.

"And a story."

He raises his eyebrows again, and leans forward. "Well." Musing; interested. "All right, then."

* * * * *

Half-full white containers litter the coffee table; Simon is leaning over one of them, carefully spooning mejadara onto his plate.

"I'm trying to think where to start," he says, settling back.

"Well," Jordie says, "I've had a chance to think about it. Let's go with what was going on that was so important you missed Rika's birthday without calling. Especially because -- weren't you two still kind of thinking about maybe doing something technically approaching physical contact? Like a handshake?" Wry. "Because that was our first real hint that something was really wrong."

"Rika's birthday," Simon repeats slowly, and rubs his forehead. "That would have been ... it started about two months before that. That's when I got the letter from River."

He taps one finger unconsciously against the edge of his plate. "How much do you already know about what happened to River? I know some of that made it onto the newsfeeds, when they cleared us."

He'll have to consider his words carefully.

Jordie stretches. His gaze abstracts. "Making all the necessary disclaimers," he says slowly, "about psychiatry not being my specialty, and about the nature of all news outlets to tinge yellow when something sensational happens..."

"She went to school." There. Safe enough. "You broke her out. And they withheld the evidence from the feeds, which means it was deemed abusive to a minor -- which means that first, it wasn't really a school, it was a prison. And second, there was abuse. Watching those feeds, and observing her actions -- it had to have been extreme. The question is whether it was psychological, physical, or some combination."

Jordie says this last, and his dark eyes are sharp, and don't leave Simon; his brow is lowered, more in thought than in anger.

Simon's nodding.

"A combination," he says. "And ... do you want to hear this in the order I found out about it, or the order it happened?"

"Let's go with the order you found out about it."

It'll make more sense -- Rika's birthday, Terrence's mother's surgery, the traditional New Year's party, all the rest of it.

"Well." It's easier to tell that way, too; and he suspects his friend knows it. "The letter from River. It was incoherent in places; it referred to things that never happened. Some of the words were misspelled."

He doesn't need to emphasize that, or to explain why it was anomalous. Not to Jordie.

"It was a code. All it said was: they're hurting us. Get me out." Beat. "That was ... late spring of 14."

When Jordie was looking at offer letters for one-year residencies. When Liz was trying to decide whether she wanted to do what she thought would help the most, or do what she went to school for. When Liz wanted to talk to Simon about it, and Simon hadn't been around much, and Liz had come to him instead.

He's nodding.

"I tried for the next two years to find a way to get to her. Without letting the Academy administration know I was doing it -- she wouldn't have coded the message if she didn't have reason to think they were monitoring her correspondence."

His gaze refocuses on the present, and on Jordie's face.

"I didn't think it would be safe to tell anyone else," he says quietly. Apologetically.

Jordie raises his eyebrows and says, "Based on the reaction you got, I'd say you were right. And on the reaction we got, as well -- they paid visits to Liz and Rika, and Dunash too, I think. And of course none of us had spoken to you in months. I think we can conclude you were smart to do that."

Beat.

"No matter what Liz had to say about it." There's that too-ugly-to-be-a-smile again, and Jordie's gaze flicks to the window. "Never mind. Carry on."

Simon can imagine what Liz had to say about it, and it's painful on so many different levels. He takes a bite of grilled lamb and chews, to keep himself from saying anything about that.

Swallowing, he resumes. "I don't think I would ever have gotten in on my own. But I was contacted by some people, this ... underground group, and they told me they could get River out. If I could get her away, once they had. They said we would need to disappear."

"If you weren't telling anyone, how did they find you?" The question is immediate -- and Jordie sits back, shaking his head a little. "Sorry." Wry. "Not an interrogation. I know."