simon_doctor | (no subject)

"...Suggestions? No. I just ..."

Reluctantly: "I don't know what to do."

"That'd make two of us then," Mal responds, adding 'Obvious' to his list of nicknames.

Letting a pause lengthen, Mal finally picks up his book again and passes it to Simon.

"Ever read The Red Badge of Courage before?"

Simon takes the book and glances at it, a little dubiously. "I don't think so."

"Read it once a long while ago."

Ain't proud to have scars.

"Bar ga' this copy to me. Apparently she maybe thought I needed to be reminded o' some things." Not really elaborating, Mal continues, "All you can do is the best with what you've got. I'll talk to Bernard, see what can be done. 'S all I can do, much as I'd like to see it different."

A moment's time to think, then an eyebrow quirk. "Has River come across Jubal at all?"

"No, not since the first day he was here."

A pause, then uneasily: "As far as I know."

Mal shrugs. "Girl's allowed to have her own life, I imagine. So long as she knows we're all around for 'er for help and all that, I mean."

"...Do you really think River's capable of having her own life?"

Mal doesn't know really how to respond, so he tries for as kind a tone as Simon's probably ever heard him take.

"I think she's capable of tryin'. Miranda's out o' her brain, she's got friends and family. If she don't get to try, I don't know what all the pains we felt were for."

"Neither do I."

His voice is low, and a little tense.

How you farin' with that, Doctor?

With an eye wiser than 33 years old, Mal tries to figure out what is going on with Simon at the moment and fails.

"Somethin's eatin' at you, I feel it."

Simon's gaze cuts across at Mal, suddenly guarded.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

Mal sighs dramatically, reaching over to retrieve his book but not yet opening it.

"Just tryin' to play nice, Doc, that was all."

Simon pauses, and gives a small sigh of his own.

"I appreciate it."

Mal doesn't open the book again, simply leaving it in his lap - gives him something to stare at.

And there's a moment of silence.

When Simon starts speaking, he isn't looking at Mal.

"I mean, yes, Miranda's out of her head, but ... that doesn't mean the damage isn't done. She still picks things up from people around her, and too many of them are going to be things she shouldn't have to know."

"...I don't know what to tell ya, Simon. She's probably going to forever be like that."

Quieter: "Lot o' things happen to folk that they shouldn't have to deal with. But your sister, I'm comin' to think'll be able to deal with anythin' comin' her way better than most folk."

Mal eyes Simon with obvious concern. "Any reason to think otherwise?"

"...I don't know."

It's a more honest answer than the one he wanted to give, which was no.

Mal shrugs in an attempt to return to some form of lightness in the conversation. He probably fails, and he knows this.

""'I don't know' 's a fair enough answer. God knows there're situations in my life don't make not one bit o' sense to me either."

Mal's not trying to push anything. At least Simon's talking to him like Mal's got something to offer.

His voice sinks lower.

"What they did to her, what they turned her into ... it's not something that can be repaired."

"I understand that, Doc," Mal reminds.

Simon glances up at Mal.

"You didn't know her before."

His tone is one of regret.

Mal seems to match his tone when he replies, "Can't imagine that I wouldn't have been a nicer person to meet before the War."

Moving on quickly, "Everyone has events happen to 'em that change them. Can't avoid it."

"Before the war." Simon's mouth twists, a little bit. "I'm not sure there ever was any before the war. Just ... some battles fought before anyone else knew there was a war going on."

He's thinking about Miranda. And the Reavers. And the Academy.

He's not sure there's an after the war either, if it comes to that.

One hand tightens around the small red book.

He's thinking about an entire decade that could have gone very differently.

He's not sure there's an after the war either, if the look on his face tells any tales.

"You survived. River survived." Book didn't. My friends didn't, long before.

(Reavers don't leave no survivors.)

"I suppose so."

(Strictly speaking, wouldn't say they did.)