simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

Kaylee holds out a hand from under the engine block, and Simon stretches to hand her the spanner.

They're in Serenity's engine room. Not their own Serenity; the one in the Milliways garage.

Being here still feels strange, in so many ways -- but helping to put it back together feels right.

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She's not talking much as a matter of course, but the most intricte part of the job is over.

Which is good, considering how much time she's spending on the ship. Makes it easier, in a lot of ways. She doesn't really have to talk to anybody -- and she can write it off as they know where I am if they want to find me.

And it's not as though she hasn't already done this job once before.

Kaylee says, a little muffled, "Simon, I want a house."

"Sorry --" He glances automatically toward the array of tools. "A what?"

"A house. On Praxed." She's not holding her hand out.

His mind switches gears.

"...Oh." A pause for thought. "I don't see why not, if there are any available where we need to be."

"And I think I should be the one to pay for it."

He blinks.

"...why's that?" There's no distress in his tone, only surprise.

"Speakin' in terms of raw logistics -- ow -- I'm okay -- "

(There was a buzz, and a few sparks.)

" -- the funds I got ain't tied up with nobody else. And it's not like I don't got 'em to spare, considerin', and I'm the one wantin' the house."

"I'd like a house too," he points out mildly, "but ... that's all true. Particularly about the joint funds. It would make sense."

A beat.

"Are you sure?"

From under the engine comes a quick, heavy sigh.

"I'm sure."

Kaylee can explain it. She won't explain it if he doesn't ask.

A brief pause.

"In that case," he says, "I think you should have the final say on what our price range should be."

She wasn't expecting that.

(It gets suddenly quiet, under the block.)

Very carefully, she pushes herself out, sits up, regards him.

"Serious?"

"I think so." He looks back at her, calm and considering. "I mean, which is not to say I wouldn't like to discuss it jointly, but ..."

There's a very small smile on Kaylee's face, and it looks like she's fighting it getting bigger.

"But I'm kind of in charge, long as I get your input before I do anything?"

(He likely hasn't seen her look like this for weeks.)

He hasn't; and it's because of that smile that he answers as he does -- putting the agreement before the clarification, instead of after.

"Essentially, yes." A beat. "At least on how much we're spending. I'd like a veto over what house we end up buying?"

"Well, yeah." That's a full-fledged grin. "I'm under the assumption we're stayin' there a while. I'd think it's only fair."

This is clearly one of those times when without planning to, he has managed to say exactly the right thing.

(He can't remember the last time that happened.)

"Then we're agreed?"

"Oh, I'm thinkin'." She stretches, twisting her spine. "More work to do. But that'll be fine."

"Hĕnhăo."

(More work to do; he makes a mental note to offer further help if she seems to be under too much strain. But not until.)

He's still for a moment, just looking at her appreciatively.

And after a moment, she catches him. "What?"

"Nothing."

A beat.

"Have I mentioned recently that I love you?"

"...not all that recent, no." She leans back on her hands; he's getting a lazy, slightly speculative smile. "But you're clear for the next month or two now. Good job."

"Oh, good."

He rests his arms on his knees, studies her with a smile.

"While we're on the subject, have I told you how beautiful you are when you've been working?"

"...so, what, you're tryin' to get in good for the next six months? Rack up your points now, cash 'em in at your convenience?" Amused.

Deadpan: "Well, I didn't know I could deposit compliments on an installment plan, but now that you bring it up..."

Up go Kaylee's eyebrows. "Watch it, handsome, or my number-keepin's gonna start gettin' a mite fuzzy, and not in your favor."

"All right," he says, raising a hand in half-laughing surrender, "all right."

A beat.

"But ... seriously. I meant it."

A few jumbled emotions cross her face; she looks away.

Very quiet: "Well. Thank you." Beat. "It sounds so odd. Comin' from you. You don't like a mess."

He pauses.

"I don't," he says, "usually, but ... it's different. I don't know why."

She smiles, a little crooked, not meeting his eyes. "You know it's strange for me? To hear that? You're complimentin' me on somethin' you don't like. And I don't..."

Kaylee shakes her head. "Never mind."

He looks at her.

"Maybe it's just that you've been doing something you love," he suggests quietly.

She's not about to tell him what it's actually about: that while she trusts him, generally speaking, she finds it difficult to believe what he's saying. That she's the exception to his rule. Because people don't -- or ought not to -- work like that.

"Maybe," Kaylee says, and makes to move back under the block.

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