simon_doctor | (no subject)

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.

The ship's late. Not that it matters much, Kaylee supposes. The evening is pleasant enough.

She's waiting well outside, leaning next to a column, craning her neck to look up at the ships.

It feels strange, being here. Like she's a ghost.

Simon emerges shortly after the ship lands, suitcases in tow, scanning the area for her.

The Logan City port doesn't feel like coming home; not yet.

She sees him before he sees her, and she doesn't say a thing, doesn't lift a hand, doesn't move at all.

Not quite:

She tilts her head, watching him for a few seconds.

He's a little slumped as he stands there, searching the area for her, one bag over his shoulder and the other trailing behind him on wheels; there's some weariness in his face, but there's also a kind of peace.

He'll spot her in a moment, if he keeps turning in this direction.

The point, while he was gone, was to do the things she couldn't do with him around.

And now he's back.

She'd be lying if she said she didn't feel just a little regret as she starts to walk toward him.

The motion is what catches his eye.

He brightens, and starts toward her to meet her halfway.

"You in one piece?" With a faint smile.

"One very tired piece." His own smile's not faint at all.

"Give me that bag -- " She's holding out her hand. "And we'll get you home."

He unslings the bag from his shoulder, and steps closer to hand it to her.

"How're you doing, xin gan?"

Kaylee hefts the bag. "Me?" She sounds surprised. "I'm fine. Come on, I parked this way."