simon_doctor | (no subject)

He doesn't know what she was going to say, and is a little afraid to ask.

"That makes a lot of sense," he says instead. "You've been thinking a lot about this."

"Plannin' it for a while now," she agrees.

A little defensively.

"I see." Quiet.

He's trying to figure out a way to ask why didn't you want to tell me? that doesn't sound accusatory.

"So." She shrugs. "Now you know. I got work to do."

She's trying to tell herself that it doesn't matter if he doesn't approve, that she's a grown woman and it's her money and she's just trying to do right.

"Did you ..." He bites his lower lip. "Did you think I'd object? To the idea?"

"I didn't know if you'd like it."

Beat. She turns and looks at him. With a sigh: "And I just want something that's mine. You're gonna be gone a lot. I know that. Can I just have something that's mine to do?"

"... Of course." As though there's no reason to even ask.

"Okay, well -- " Kaylee gestures at the books. "This is it."

Simon nods. "I'll pack them with your things, then."

A beat.

"Just," he starts, looking down at his hands, and doesn't quite seem to know how to continue the sentence.

She waits, wary.

"Does ... " His fingers twine together. "For something to be just yours, does that have to mean I don't know about it?"

Because if it does -- well. He'll have to try to accept it, that's all; try to be okay with it.

Kaylee's mouth tightens, and she looks away.

Low: "I knew you'd react like this."

"Like what?"

It's not a challenge; it's an honest question.

"Like I did somethin' wrong because I just wanted to keep it to myself until I found out whether it'd work or not."

"No," he says, "no, it's all right if you do, just ..."

He looks away.

A little sharp: "Would you just tell me what you think I did wrong so I can say I'm sorry, get some gorram drugs, and go back to work?"

"It's important to you," he says, low. "Clearly important. And you didn't want me to know about it at all. I don't know how that would feel to you if our positions were reversed."

Kaylee folds her arms. (Gingerly.) "And the fact that I wanted to show you somethin' complete and whole that I did, all by myself, to show you that I can make us secure and you don't have to worry about me -- that don't come into it at all. Is what you're sayin'. Do I have that right?"

He looks at her.

A little unsteady: "You didn't say that before."

"Well, now I am. But I guess I'll just give up on that to make you happy." She throws up her hands and heads for the door. "And I guess we can have a secret-tellin' session later where I'll confess all my other sins."

"Kaylee --"

He takes a step after her, and another.

"What in god's name makes you think that would make me happy?"

His voice is sharp, until it cracks on the last word.

"Because you never want me to do anything independent," she says, also sharply, over her shoulder. "You always got to have a hand in everything. So fine. I'll give it up. Make you happy."

"I don't," he insists. "I don't need to have a hand in everything --"

"You got a hell of a way of showin' it." She opens the door and walks out. "Don't expect me back tonight."

"Kaylee!"

He catches the door and goes after her.

Tightly: "Kaylee, there is a difference between wanting to have a hand in everything and wanting to have some idea of what's going on."