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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"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.

Just to ensure the hug stays at appropriate levels of semi-manliness, Wash gives Simon a pat on the back before pulling away.

"Okay," he exhales. "If I leave without saying good-bye to your wife, she's gonna punch me, so I'd better go do that to avoid any black eyes or other unsightly bruising. Take care of yourself." He points to him. "And I'm not kidding about those visits, I've got a three-year-old and I'm not afraid to use her."

And about fifteen feet away, Kaylee comes down with one more bag for the pallet. Down it goes; she rubs at her forehead like it hurts.

It'd be easier if the rental would just get here.

Edited 2010-01-14 04:47 (UTC)

Wash is kinda glad it hasn't.

He turns, and his expression brightens before he heads pallet- and bruise-free words. "Kaylee?"

She glances up -- and there's that same crooked smile everybody's gotten today. "Yeah?"

"Say I wanted to give you a dinosaur as a parting gift."

This is a Very Serious Question, clearly. He folds his arms, cocking an eyebrow.

"Stegosaurus or pterodactyl, and pink and sparkly or normal?"

So much for the crooked smile.

"Don't they belong on the bridge?"

Shifty glance left. Shifty glance right.

"Mmmmmaybe." Firm, "But only the non-stegosaurus, non-pterodactyl ones."

This is going to get awkward.

After just a little too long, Kaylee puts on a smile. "Reckon I'll leave it up to your judgment."

It's sort of like one of those inverse proportion problems: as Kaylee's smile shows up, Wash's starts to falter a little.

"Or I could just hug you," he offers, a little more tentative than he means it to be. "Hugs work, too. They can work, right?"

"Shi a. -- but before we get into all that. I'm leavin' my pad behind, it's got all the reports and priority lists right on it, and I know it's kind of on its last legs so I made backups and I'm keepin' a set, just in case. And captain don't know I'm leavin' the whole pad, it's on the ledge just inside, back in the engine room -- he's got his own set of backups so he oughtn't to ask for yours but he probably will."

Because the faster you talk, the less likely it is that something will happen to trip you up. Like any honest display of emotion.