simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's another day; another job on a Rim planet. Cargo to pick up, and a mobile clinic stop a few miles away from where Serenity's landed. They're expected to take about the same amount of time.

They don't, quite.

The clinic shuttle finally appears about five minutes before scheduled takeoff.

"Glad you could join us, Doc," comes Wash's voice over the speakers, cheerfully sardonic. "Your landing pad's clear."

"Thank you," comes Simon's voice in response. "Docking now." And that's all.

The shuttle docks. The last pieces of cargo have been fastened down in the cargo bay, and everyone's aboard. The ramp lifts, the airlock closes, and Serenity breaks atmo only about two minutes behind schedule.

Simon hasn't emerged from the shuttle.

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It's her custom to wander down to the cargo bay to greet him, after he's back from a run. Normally he meets her outside.

Normally, she thinks, standing outside, he has the door open by now.

She knocks on the door, feeling a little stupid. "Simon?"

There's no answer.

Reasons it sucks being married to the mechanic: she knows the override codes to get into your shuttle from the outside.

With some effort, she slides the door open. "Simon?"

The clinic section of the shuttle is brightly lit, and scrupulously clean, and empty.

Something shifts, up in the cockpit.

Kaylee's eyes narrow.

She reaches in her pocket for her multitool, and snaps out the big blade.

(It wouldn't be the first time Serenity has had a stowaway, and it wouldn't be the first time Serenity has had a stowaway intending harm.)

Very calm: "I think whoever's in here wants to be tellin' me their name, right here, right now."

A long pause.

Simon's voice, a little muffled: "Kaylee?"

"...no, handsome, that's my name." Wry, and a little gentle. She takes a few steps forward. "Can I put the weapon away, or is there somebody I need to try to stab before screamin' for the captain?"

"...what? No, there's nobody...."

More movement, and then he's standing in the door of the cockpit, blinking out at her.

(His eyes are reddened.)

It's only through long practice that Kaylee doesn't cut herself closing the knife and slipping it back in her pocket.

Low: "You hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. I..."

He blinks again, looking faintly puzzled.

"Are we in the air already?"

"And through atmo," Kaylee says, taking another step forward. "You sure you didn't hit your head...?"

He shakes his head, but there's an unnervingly vague and distant look about his eyes.

"I just. Lost track of time, I guess. I was ..."

Pause.

Much lower: "Thinking."

It doesn't take a rocket scientist: something happened.

Careful, slow, she rests her hands on his arms, waiting to see if he'll flinch.

Flinch is not the right word for it. His gaze drops; he draws a long, faintly shaky breath, and lets it out slowly.

Even lower: "Is anyone else looking for me?"

"Give it a couple hours and you might get some questions as to why you're not at dinner." Quiet. "Not yet."

He nods, and one of his hands comes up to return her grasp.

"Come sit?"

She looks up at him, the corner of her mouth tilting up. "Shi a. Where?"

By way of response, he tugs gently toward the cockpit.

She follows, and seats herself in the copilot's chair.

Whatever it is, it's going to be bad.

He sits down in the pilot's chair, turns it toward her.

Runs a hand over his face.

"There was a patient brought in today," he says quietly, "in the very late stages of malaria."

Kaylee tilts her head. Nods.

It's not the worst story she's ever heard from the clinic runs, and Simon knows it.

"And it's --"

One hand fists loosely in front of his mouth.

"There, there's very little anyone can do at this stage."

And that shakes him up. Kaylee knows it.

"Right." Soft.

"I gave them all the neoquine I had, and I said -- I said I'd send them more before it runs out, but --"

A breath, and his voice goes very controlled. "It may already be too late to prevent last-stage coma and death. And I had to tell them that."

She lets out a quiet breath, and nods.