simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

The old rule still applies. During the time that's designated as theirs, together, there are to be no work-related distractions.

Which means he's silenced his inbound messages for anything that isn't emergency-priority. Everything else will just have to wait a while.

Simon settles on the couch next to Kaylee, and holds out a mug of homemade cocoa. "So. How's my first attempt?"

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"...Do you have something specific in mind, or are you just trying to terrify me?"

He's half-laughing.

"Scary stories are appropriate at this time of night."

"Oh," he says, "well, if we're telling scary stories ..."

And he starts to grin.

"Do you know the one about the hitchhiker?"

Kaylee rolls her eyes. "Which one?"

"Mmm --"

He starts ticking points off on his fingertips. "There's the one where the hitchhiker turns out to be a ghost, the one where the driver turns out to be a ghost, the one where the driver gets murdered by the hitchhiker or vice versa, the one where the hitchhiker turns out to be the ghost of the driver..."

" -- and the one where the fella hitchin' has a hook on his hand and scratches all the way through the top of the skimmer -- "

" -- which includes the version where he actually makes it in, and the version where the driver leaves him behind but later finds the hook embedded in the door --"

" -- and the fella drivin' is hangin' from a tree or somethin'. I forget exactly what."

Reminiscently: "The one that always scared me the most was where the hitchhiker is actually the driver's ghost. I don't know why."

Kaylee giggles. "Maybe on account of ghosts can't drive?"

"You don't know that," he says very seriously.

"Their hands'd go right through the yoke," she protests.

"But frequently in ghost stories, ghosts can touch and move things," he points out. "Like the ones with the message painted on the wall?"

"Quit pokin' holes in the stories," she says, grinning -- and poking him.

He does not yelp. That would be undignified. You're imagining things.

Anyway, he's too busy making sure his sudden involuntary squirming doesn't make him spill the cocoa.

Kaylee's laughing as she leans forward to put her own mug down (on the floor; the coffee table's in the other room). "I think I just figured out what I want to do tonight."

"...what."

He's starting to shift away from her, half-laughing.

Sweetly: "You might want to put that down."

"...if I do that, you'll poke me again."

Beat.

"Which you might do anyway...."

"I was bein' nice and givin' you a warning." Kaylee inches closer to him.

A little hastily, Simon leans to put the mug down.

Kaylee watches with approval. "I didn't really want nothin' spilled on me," she confides.

"Neither did I," he agrees, straightening up.

And eyeing her with exaggerated wariness.

"Simon Tam, you're startin' to act like you don't think I'm all sweet and nice."

"You are entirely sweet and nice and I would never suggest otherwise."

His face is perfectly straight.

(No it isn't.)