simon_doctor | (no subject)

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."

He holds out a hand for his other bag. "I'll try to remember that."

Jordie nudges the bag over to Simon, and slips his hands in his pockets.

Simon takes it, and lets out a breath.

"It's been good seeing you," he says quietly, with a small smile.

Jordie raises his eyebrows a little; his own small smile is wry, and a little resigned. "Well. Thanks for using your nefarious contacts to keep the clinic open."

"...I would say 'anytime,' only I'm pretty sure we both hope it won't need to happen again."

"It will." Jordie shrugs. "Eventually. But no reason to worry about that right now."

"...all right."

He puts down one bag at his feet, and holds out his hand.

"Be well, Jordie."

His shoulders are a little slumped -- but he shakes, like he's supposed to. "Wave if you need anything."

"You too."

He holds on to Jordie's hand a moment longer than strictly necessary.

And then lets go, and bends to pick up his bag.

"Take care."

He's rotten at goodbyes (and hates them) and he knows it; he doesn't draw out this one overly long -- just gets back in the car and drives off once Simon's safely on the curb.

And he doesn't glance in the rearview. Not once.

Leaving Osiris. Again.

Forty minutes going through the spaceport security and getting to the gate. Roughly an hour waiting for boarding to start; roughly half that once boarded, waiting in his berth for takeoff to be announced.

(take us out of the world, Wash)

A day and a night, and most of another day, in transit. He reads; he sleeps; he writes up his summary of the meetings and a few textwave announcements to send out in the office on Monday. He watches a little of the onboard entertainment system without really seeing it.

He wishes, a little, that he had some excuse to just go home by way of Milliways. The time spent in travel seems like such a waste.

(He's not conscious of how oddly soothing it is, falling asleep to the almost subliminal hum of ship's engines.)

When the allcall announces that they'll be docking in Logan City on Praxed in twenty minutes, he's dozing, but wakes up quickly.

It never fails, though; no matter how much you sleep on the way, you always disembark feeling tired.