simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's midmorning in Logan City on Praxed -- early afternoon, ship's time -- when Serenity touches down at the spacedocks. There's supplies to take on, and cargo to unload ... and two members of the crew to go ashore.

Simon and Kaylee are standing by the gangplank, next to the float pallet bearing their luggage. They've put in a call for a rental skimmer; it should be here sometime in the next twenty minutes.

This isn't goodbye forever. But it's still goodbye.

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He bites his lip.

"It's okay, baobei," he tells her. "We'll come back to visit."

She turns her head to fix her eyes on Simon, like he's about to disappear into thin air. "But -- "

"He's right, honey," murmurs Wash soothingly. "We're still gonna see them, even if Daddy has to hijack a skimmer and go through a thrilling high-speed chase to get there."

"No." This time, it's definitely an objection. Like it's all that matters: "I don't want you to."

"Let's avoid the hijacking a skimmer if we can," Simon suggests, deadpan.

And to Naomi: "Would you want to come visit us sometime? We have a house. With a backyard you could play in."

"One foot out the door and you're still trying to ruin all my fun," says Wash, but there's zero heat behind it.

Naomi presses her lips together and keeps watching Simon, tears starting to gather in her eyes. "Uh-huh," she says, and sniffles, and then bursts out with, "But how come you can't stay here too?"

"Because nobody can be in two places at once," he tells her, with a painful smile.

"I wish I could."

Naomi digs a fist into her eye to try and wipe away some of the tears; another loud sniffle sounds. "People at Milliways could."

(She may not remember the bar itself -- she was too young, and her mom and dad haven't been back there in years -- but she hears the crew talk about it enough to know that lots of impossible stuff can happen there.)

Wash murmurs out another soothing sound, wrapping his arms around his daughter a little more snugly. "But we're not at Milliways, baobei," he says. "Which means we've got all those those pesky laws of physics to obey."

Sorry, he mouths over her head to Simon. He'd hoped this wouldn't happen. Hence the whole telling her about it beforehand.

It's okay, he mouths back.

And then on impulse: "Naomi, could you do me a big favor?"

She clutches onto her dad's shirt with one damp hand and nods.

"Would you go find Uncle Mal and ask him to come out here?"

He lowers his voice a little. "He's sad right now too, so you need to be brave. Like your ma."

"Okay," she mumbles, but she uncurls a little from the protective hunch she'd been trying to assume in Wash's arms, since Zoe doesn't hunch like that and she wouldn't cry about Uncle Simon and Aunt Kaylee leaving either.

Wash kisses her cheek, sets her to her feet with a whispered, "Go ahead," and watches her scamper away into the belly of the ship. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I swear, sharing of important leave-taking information did happen last night," he says.

"No, I believe you," Simon tells him. "She probably even heard you, it just ... didn't register."

He's looking after Naomi, his expression unconsciously wistful.

"Yeah," he agrees quietly, and glances back Simon's way. Another lopsided smile finds its way to his mouth.

"I'm gonna hold you to that visit," he adds. "And a lot of other ones if I have my way."

"I hope so," he says, his own gaze going back to Wash.

"... It's hard to believe we're really leaving."

"I know." Another sigh, this one overexaggerated with nostalgia. "Feels like just yesterday you were walking on here, wearing those ridiculous pink sunglasses..."

"I was wearing those to keep from being retina-scanned," he protests. "It wasn't a, a fashion statement."

"All I'm saying is that blue would've been more your color." Serene. "Did you know they make scanner-proof sunglasses for every occasion now?"

"...I'll be sure to remember that next time I need to become a wanted fugitive." Dry.

"It's my one last parting gift to you: completely useless advice."

Beam!

And then the smile wanes, and he sobers for a beat. "I'm really gonna miss you guys."

Honestly: "We'll miss you too."

And it's not as though but we can come visit each other is really all that comforting, is it.

Not as much as it ought to be. Stupid well-meaning sentiments, falling down on the job like that.

"Thanks, too. For, you know..." An absent gesture with one hand, before it finds its way to the back of his neck again. "Taking care of us this whole time."

He doesn't blink hard, or clear his throat, or anything of the kind.

But it's with an effort.

"Well." Soft. "Take a little extra care of yourselves after this, all right? Since I won't be here?"

Wash ticks the next words off on his fingers with a grin. "No skydiving, no eating funny plants, and no saying 'hey, what's that?' before pushing the big red button in the cargo bay. Got it."

Beat.

"So on a scale of one to oh God no, how embarrassed would I make you if I hugged you right now?"

Simon lets out a short breath, and smiles again.

"I think I'd be okay."

Loftily: "Oh, well in that case, we'll just have to settle for handshakes and good-day-to-yous."

And then, of course, he promptly sweeps Simon into a hug.

Because he's been on this ship long enough that he taught his daughter to call him "Uncle Simon" without even thinking about it, and he's kinda gotten used to seeing this guy around every day, and all of a sudden now...he's not going to.

There is no possible scenario in which this doesn't warrant a hug.

There really isn't. Or at least no scenario that Simon wants to contemplate.

He hugs Wash back, brief but tight.