simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

They came to an agreement early on: since Kaylee's much busier than Simon right now, even if he helps, and since Simon will be much busier after they've moved, it only makes sense for him to do the bulk of their packing now and for her to do the bulk of the unpacking later.

This means careful documenting and labeling, while he's putting things into boxes; it'll save a lot of trouble in the unpacking, since he might not be there to remember where he put what. In short: making lists.

He's a bit confused by the pair of unfamiliar books he's just come across, though.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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."

Without turning around: "I said I'd stop what I was doing. That's enough."

"I don't want you to stop. And if you stop, it's not going to make either one of us happy."

"Don't you get -- " She's in front of the infirmary, trying to open and close the door to the cargo bay to get a door back to the bar. "I would rather have no project at all than have to share it. You get yours, and I don't get mine?"

"You don't have to share it with me. I don't need to be involved, at all --"

He's coming up behind her, moving slower now.

It won't go.

"You just made me share it with you." Cold.

"The fact that it exists," he protests. "That doesn't -- that's all I wanted."

Her shoulders slump a little.

(It's hard not to feel pretty stupid when you're opening and closing a door over and over again, and nothing happens.)

"So you got what you want. Okay? We done here?"

"Does that ruin it?"

Soft, now. He's trying to understand.

"Is it ... not just yours anymore if I know about it?"

Without turning around:

"It's like you're gonna be watchin'. To see how I do. And if I can do it."

But I don't do that, objects an internal voice.

"What if I promised not to?"

"Can't we just stop talkin' about it?"

He's quiet. Biting his lip.

"All right," he says finally, low. "I'm sorry."

Kaylee steps over the threshold and heads for the staircase.

Simon turns, rubbing his chest with one hand as though to banish a chill, and slowly makes his way back to their room.

There's still packing to do.

And she goes back to the Milliways garage, where she puts in a good six hours of work -- not literally backbreaking -- before dropping herself gingerly on the pallet in the corner, face to the wall, for a nap.

It's an advantage of exhaustion that she doesn't think at all.

It's maybe forty minutes after that when Simon knocks on the edge of the doorway to the engine room.

The pallet's not quite visible from where he's standing.

Kaylee jerks in her sleep, and stiffens, eyes springing open. The toe of her boot hits the bulkhead with a dull clang.

She looks up.

He steps back, and looks down toward the sound of impact.

"...Hey," he says softly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

She reaches up, reaching for his hand.

He hunkers next to the pallet, sitting on his heels, and takes her hand.

Again, even softer: "Hey."

Kaylee budges up her head from the thin pillow, pushing it toward him. Faint: "Sit?"

He slides closer, turning, and sits. Doesn't let go of her hand.

Murmured: "How're you doing, xin gan?"

She settles her head in his lap with a soft sigh, and doesn't answer.

(That might be an answer itself.)

With his free hand, he strokes her head.

It doesn't seem quite the time to bring up what he came here to talk about.