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?"
"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.
"Sure we did. Me, for one. At the beginning of it." Mal almost laughs at the memory. "I was so green, I showed up to basic three weeks earlier 'n everyone to get weapons training."
Sobering again quickly, "There was so many volunteers in the beginning. More 'n half, in my experience, were as babes in baskets."
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His voice is low, and a little tense.
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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."
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"I'm not sure what you mean."
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"Just tryin' to play nice, Doc, that was all."
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"I appreciate it."
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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."
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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?"
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It's a more honest answer than the one he wanted to give, which was no.
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""'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.
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"What they did to her, what they turned her into ... it's not something that can be repaired."
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"You didn't know her before."
His tone is one of regret.
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Moving on quickly, "Everyone has events happen to 'em that change them. Can't avoid it."
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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.
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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.
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"I suppose so."
(Strictly speaking, wouldn't say they did.)
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"You got family here."
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A pause.
"I know."
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"Good."
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Somehow that makes it a little easier to ask the next question.
"...When you were in the war," he starts, and stalls.
Not a lot easier, evidently.
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Mal makes no outward change in demeanor.
"Yes?"
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Simon's fingers twist together, groping for words.
"I mean, you must have had ... recruits who weren't ... who didn't have any prior experience. In combat."
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Sobering again quickly, "There was so many volunteers in the beginning. More 'n half, in my experience, were as babes in baskets."
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"Were there ever any who ... seemed to take to it ... a little too well?"
He looks up on the last words, meeting Mal's eyes.
Yes, he's aware that this is a potentially dangerous question.
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