simon_doctor | (no subject)

It might not be somebody he knows.

That's his driving thought as he walks quickly down the hall, footsteps echoing: I need to get him out without questions. This is why Jordie ducks into a lounge area, grabs somebody's white coat, and clips his ID badge from the hospital on Londinium right on the pocket. Good enough.

And -- there. Two quick raps on the lab door, and Jordie pokes his head in. Simon's on the other side of the room with his hands on a microscope. To the instructor (who isn't anyone he knows, after all): "I need to borrow Dr. Tam. It's an emergency."

He looks up at the sound of his name, focuses on Jordie, and goes very still for an instant.

Then his hands are moving, sliding the eyepiece cover shut automatically and picking up his notes; he murmurs something to his lab partner, a middle-aged woman with short-cropped blonde hair, who nods back and says something clearly visible as of course.

Then he's hurrying to pick up his briefcase and coat, and exchanging a hurried and apologetic (on his part) few words with the instructor.

As soon as the door's shut behind them: "We need to make a quick stop and then we're going somewhere." Low, as they hurry down the hall.

Jordie peels off left to the lounge and starts working his way out of the lab coat. "Check your inbound while I put this back." Beat. "She's fine. I talked to her. There's -- she's okay."

Simon doesn't ask who, or what. He pulls his datareader out of his briefcase, sees the two message flags up, flicks to the first one --

His heart is beating far too fast, thudding like a hammer in his chest, pulse throbbing in his temples and throat and wrists. His mind is cold, and very clear.

"You have a car here?"

"Waiting outside." Jordie worms his way into his coat and buttons it. "Traffic's light. We can be there in fifteen."

Simon doesn't bother fastening his own jacket. The chill wind outside cuts through his clothes and snaps back his hair as they step out of the building.

It's not until they're in the car and en route that he makes a conscious effort to slow his breathing.

"You talked to her. Did she tell you what happened?"

"She was walking back from the covered market and stopped on a corner and the cop standing there brought her in. She didn't know any more than that -- I don't think she knows what they're charging her with."

Jordie drives like he learned to drive in a metropolis: fast, swervy, crazy. He doesn't think Simon will mind much, considering.

He drives not too differently from the way Wash flies, and Simon's almost fiercely glad of it.

"They didn't tell her." It's distant, and thoughtful, and cold.

"They hadn't when she talked to me. She said -- " Jordie glances at him briefly, sidelong. "She waved you first, and then got me when she couldn't get you. And she didn't sound panicked." He banks hard left, running the light. Nothing happens. "She just asked me to find you."

"She didn't sound panicked." His heart's starting to slow, a little. "That's good."

He's staring fixedly forward, one hand braced absently against the edge of the window.

Not the smartest decision ever to speed into a deck by a police precinct. Jordie does it anyway, and parks haphazardly, feet hitting the ground before the dock's fully around the hull. He locks up without thinking twice.

Simon's out of the car and heading for the front doors at a rapid stride, barely glancing to see if Jordie's coming in with him.

His face is set and pale, and it isn't fear.

Jordie's just behind him, gaze flickering between what's in front of them -- the desk, with two uniformed officers behind it -- and Simon Tam.

It occurs to him that it might be a good thing he's here, if Simon decides he wants to get a little uncivilized.

(The day's finally arrived, he thinks, with black amusement, where he might just out-diplomat one of the rich kids who's supposed to be the best at this sort of thing.)

"Officers."

Uncivilized this isn't; it's courteous, if a little coldly so. "I understand my wife is being held at this station. Her name is Kaylee Frye."

He rests one hand on the edge of the desk, palm down and completely still.

Jordie stays silent.

The one on the right consults his files, nods. Asks for Simon's identcard. Says, a little boredly, that bail's set at two hundred credits.

Pipes up Jordie: "Which makes it a misdemeanor."

The officer looks up.

"Class 4, if I'm not mistaken. Which will be reduced to a fine after arbitration."

The officer informs Simon that it was not necessary to bring an armchair lawyer.

Jordie smiles. Pleasantly.

Simon's glance cuts sideways at Jordie, brief but eloquent, as he hands a credit chit across the desk and waits for the retinal scan.

Jordie has the decency to look mildly apologetic.

The officer completes the scan with his handheld, looks at the monitor, raises his eyebrows.

Says, Mr. Tam, why don't you have a seat.

Simon doesn't move.

Very quietly, and completely without inflection, he says "I believe you may be confusing me with my father."

The officer glances up.

(Jordie, in the background, very slowly rubs at his eyes rather than open his mouth.)

The officer glances back at his monitor.

Glances up again, says Dr. Tam, offers his apologies, and gestures at the bench.

He nods, the gesture very precise and formal, murmurs a brief thank-you and moves toward the bench.

Where he proceeds to remain standing, hands clasped loosely before him.

Jordie eyes the officer at the desk, eyes Simon, shrugs his way out of his coat, wanders Simonward, and drops to sit on the bench, draping his coat next to him.

He risks a glance up in Simon's direction.

He glances down, and almost immediately back up.

And, after a pause, down again.

In a low murmur: "Sorry about that."

No louder: "As I don't think you'll refuse the ride home. Anything else I can do while I'm in the area?"

With luck Simon will take that as no apology necessary; it's maybe not quite what Jordie means, but it'll do.

Still quiet: "We'll talk outside, hăo ma?"

He's looking around the room, and again has to take another deep breath, deliberately, consciously.

(have you completely lost your mind?)

He's been here before.

Which only confirms what Jordie's thinking.

"Hăo de," he says mildly, and sits back against the wall.

It's just under twenty minutes before a door opens. A uniformed officer comes out first.