simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's late ship's night, and Simon can't sleep.

He's talked the offer over with Kaylee again, after Dr. Stantz confirmed that he could help. They've agreed that she'll talk to Mal, and he'll talk to River. Soon; it'll have to be soon.

He hasn't talked to her yet about his conversation with his father. He's going to have to, he knows, but she's got enough to worry about right now.

And somewhere in the back of his mind is a further worry, about how long it's been since he's heard from Jordie. The brief textwave from his aunt said he was fine, but....

It's late ship's night, and he can't sleep, and there's tea in the kitchen.

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On the desk, a small red light begins to flash.

The only reason you're getting this wave is that Rika told me to.

Ni hao. I'm alive.

Simon reads the text. Reads it again.

Pulls on a shirt, picks up his datareader, and heads for the kitchen.

While the water's boiling, he writes:

I'm glad to hear it. In all seriousness.

A few minutes later, a video link request comes through. Subtitled on the invitation:

no idea if this will work in deep space
also I may regret this
so don't get fresh

He hears the faint chime while stirring honey into his tea, and moves back to the table.

After a pause, he reaches out and keys in the accept command, and waits for the image to resolve.

The audio comes through first. "I'm impressed. Can I blame your wife for the good reception?"

Once the image resolves, it's clear it's late at night. Jordie's face looks ghostly in the light of his own vidscreen; behind him is blackness. Faintly audible behind him: the sound of cars. Even with the poor light, with the dubiousness of the vidcapture lens on a handheld reader, Jordie looks thin and exhausted.

"Probably," he says, keeping his voice low. "Either her or our pilot; they've both worked on the communications system."

He's smiling, but it can't quite hide the worry.

"It's good to see you."

"I thought I told you not to get fresh." Jordie raises his eyebrows.

"...Sorry."

He reaches for his teacup.

"Can I ask how you've been?"

"No," Jordie says, moderately cheerfully. "I'm going to get to that in a minute. First you have to give me the update. What's new in the life of Simon Tam, besides Rika sending her extremely platonic affection?"

Beat.

"My words, not hers."

"...Well."

There's a ghost of a smile at that.

"Nothing certain at this point, but ... can you keep this quiet?"

"Silent as the grave." Jordie looks away from the screen. "But if it's that secret -- one moment."

The lens moves, suddenly, jarringly; a door opens. There's a view of what looks like a side table with a vase on it, a wall, a darkened doorway, another. A light comes on. When the reader flips rightside up, Jordie doesn't look much better.

"Now I'm in the kitchen, and away from any possible prying ears who'd actually say anything. What's the story?"

Where are you? he wants to ask, but doesn't.

(There's no one in the engine room; there's no one in the crew-quarters hallway leading to the bridge. There's bound to be someone on the bridge, Mal or Zoe most likely, but they're not close enough to hear.)

(Still, he keeps his voice low.)

"I've had a very interesting job offer."

"Really." Jordie's face looms closer on the screen. "Details, or later, in a more text-based format?"

"Later would be better, for details," he says, "but the short form is that it's to do with a medical research initiative focused on the Rim and Border worlds."

He nods, thoughtfully, and sits back. "Details later. Interesting, though. You're seriously considering it."

It's not a question.

It's not, and doesn't really need to be answered. He does anyway.

"I am, this time."

"Where's it based?"

Because he knows better than to get his hopes up. He does.

"Praxed. It's not a major world, but it's developing the infrastructure the project needs."

(A slight pang; the first time they offered him a job, it was based on Osiris.)

"And it doesn't make much sense to have a research initiative for the Rim and Border based in the Core. Not if the money's going where it needs to be going, anyhow."

"Exactly."

A beat.

"And the company that's running it has also started funding another project. Apparently there's now a handful of other mobile clinics out here."

"...so you could leave it."

Jordie is nodding, slowly. "Okay. You're thinking of going where you could be the most effective for the most people, since the few are now even more likely to be covered than before. I like it."

Simon nods, and takes a sip of tea. (He's smiling; Jordie's approval is unexpectedly warming.)

"Nothing's certain yet," he repeats, "but ... well. That's what's new around here."

"I'd call it good news." Jordie rests his chin in his hand. "Assuming everything goes through. I'll keep my fingers crossed."

"Xiexie. I hope it does."

Pause. He stirs his tea, unnecessarily.

"...So how have you been?"

Jordie glances away from the screen. Absent: "Rika made up an excuse to come check on me. I blame you." His gaze slides back. "And by the way, while she certainly doesn't see it this way, I resent the insinuation that Aunt Tildy isn't any good at keeping an eye on me."