simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

When Simon steps into the kitchen, Mal's there already, sitting at the table and cleaning his guns.

Good.

Simon clears his throat and says without preamble: "I've been reading up on Praxed."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

As Mal hadn't been handling an assembled gun at the time, his surprise at Simon's coming was not as evident as it could have been.

"What you find out, Doc?"

"It's about as civilized as Persephone, but a good deal further from the Core. Alliance presence there should be minimal. They picked a good place."

Simon walks slowly around the table, and leans a little awkwardly against the kitchen counter.

Mal does not look at Simon. Focusing on his guns is simpler.

"What's the next step you got mullin' about in your brain, Simon? 'Cause if I know you, this can't be as simple as you might want me to see it."

"It's ... not so much the next step as a side step."

His own gaze keeps trying to wander, and he keeps bringing it back to Mal.

"There's a hospital on Praxed. It's run by a religious organization. No government affiliation, not even funding."

Beat.

"If we have time while we're in dock, I'd like to visit it. A short visit."

"If you're needing to pick up somethin' for River, I'm sure we can arrange to stop off and pick it up."

"There is that, but ... that's actually not the primary reason."

His hands close on each other.

"I'd like ... I'd ask your permission to bring Anthy there."

Mal very much doesn't like this idea. At all.

"I remember you sayin' somethin' 'bout telling River you'd heal her. Are you tellin' me that you've got some sort of cure for...whatever River thinks she has?"

A little thinly: "If I had a cure, I wouldn't need to take her to the hospital."

Beat.

"I don't know what she has. It may not even be medically treatable. But if it is, if I'm going to treat it, I need to find out how. That's what I'm asking for."

Smartass.

"Fine," Mal responds, reedy and strained. "Take 'er. But she's only comin' through the ship when we dock. Don't want folk I don't know hoppin' about on my boat."

Lack of anything else to say at that moment, Mal makes faces into his gun he's now cleaning, more introverted than directed at Simon.

"That was my intention."

It's quiet, almost apologetic.

"Thank you."

Mal can't seem to pull up enough desire to mutter a "You're welcome". "You're welcome"s always seem to require a certain happiness to help out.

"I know this might not be too much on your mind now, but is there anythin' you're needing in the infirmary?"

Feelin' a bit like we might need to stock up soon.

"Only the usual restocking. I'd planned to take care of that in the same visit, if the hospital has any to sell."

Man's on top o' things, apparently.

"Shiny. Let me know when you need the coin for it."

"I will."

And there's a pause.

Mal finally completely stops work on the project before him.

"Anything else, Doc?"

(What are your intentions towards my mechanic?)

"Ah ... no. Thank you again. Sorry to have bothered you."

And he turns to go.

"Simon?" Mal addresses, before the doctor has a chance to leave.

He's still facing his guns across the table though.

Simon stops in the doorway, and glances over his shoulder.

"Yes?"

Holding his antique Smith and Wesson in one hand, he picks up a rag in another and says,

"Ain't no one out here in the black Kaylee could've met that I would approve of more than you.

...Don't mean I like it none, but I ain't gonna be a hun dan 'bout anythin'."

A memory surfaces for Mal, of offering Kaylee something in exchange of getting him and Inara movin' along. Mal supposes this counts.

For a moment, about the length of two breaths, Simon stares.

And then breaks into a very slow, very pleased smile.

"Thank you, Mal."

Mal waves off Simon, dismissing him to...wherever.

"Don't mention it." Meant to be friendly. Or, y'know, serious.

Although Simon most likely can't see it, Mal's smile is reflected in the barrel of his newly-cleaned gun.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only