simon_doctor | (no subject)

Dry: "Thanks for rubbing it in."

"Considering how often you did win in class, I'd say that speaks more highly of your persuasiveness than otherwise."

Beat.

"What was that one time, with the art festival --"

"Oh, you mean the time I broke a date and used that to convince you of my seriousness?"

"That was the one." He's grinning. "It worked, too. Once I realized you meant it."

He reaches down with one hand and picks up the bottle of water in the cupholder, twisting off the top with three fingers still in the yoke. "We rescheduled. I forget the excuse I gave her."

"Mission of mercy to save a friend's sanity?" he offers.

"Tam, when your reputation with the ladies is founded on tall, dark, and only interested in one thing, is that really the best excuse to give?"

"You don't think it would have made you seem interestingly compassionate?"

Beat.

"There's a reason I was never any good at this."

Prompt: "Because you overthink it."

"Was that it? I always thought I got into more trouble when I tried not thinking about it."

Jordie's shaking his head. "No, look -- you can be a jerk. Everybody can be a jerk. When you apologize, though, especially with someone you don't know well, you get so ritualized about it that it's either coming across as wholly insincere or the bad kind of precious, neither of which is all that attractive. And the reason you get ritualized is becaue you overthink it. Whether you realize it or not. Because manners like that are just a way to overthink things."

Simon turns to look at him, with the tiny unconscious frown that means he's examining what he's just heard.

"You may have something there," he says finally.

His eyes are on the lane in front of him. "Long years of observation, Tam. You're rutting right I do."

He's quiet for a moment.

"...Close to fifteen years now," he says, faintly wondering.

"Like I said," Jordie says, and doesn't say no, it's ten.

They're getting close. Simon watches through the window.

"How are we for time?"

"You'll get there," he says, eyebrows raised a little. "Or is that a hint to shut up?"

"No, just --" A glance at Jordie, faintly questioning. "Just asking."

He shuts up anyway. They're close to the port; it doesn't matter much.

Fifteen years, and I still never know what to say at moments like this.

"So maybe sometime," he says finally, as they approach the passenger-dropoff zone, "you could come visit us on Praxed."

"Well." He angles the car next to the curb and presses the button to open the back hatch, and moves to get out. "We'll see."

He gets out on his own side, and circles to the back hatch to take his luggage.

Do you think maybe you could say goodbye without overthinking it, Simon?

Jordie's ahead of him; he's already pulled out one bag. "Next time just keep in mind that you can do laundry at my place?"

He reaches for the bag, with a rueful look. "Sorry about that."

"Hey, you're the one who has to be the interplanetary bag wrangler, not me." Jordie hefts out the other bag and shuts the hatch. "I'm just saying."