simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

There aren't any comm facilities in the passenger bunks. Simon's using the one in Kaylee's, right now.

He hasn't wanted to leave a message, even text-only, where someone other than Crowley might read it -- but it's been too long and he wants to get this over with.

If Crowley doesn't pick up this time, he promises himself silently as he keys in the wave, he'll leave a text. A short one.

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The screen flickers into life, revealing - a stack of boxes, actually, balanced precariously in a set of arms.

"Um," the stack says, in a familiar Dyton accent, "can I be with you in just one second?"

Simon grins at the sight.

"Shi a."

Making its excuses, the stack sidles off, stage right, and after a few moments (plus one loud thump and slightly less loud "Kào! Ow. Sonofabitch hardcopies..."), is replaced by one Andronicus Crowley.

He's a little dusty.

"Simon." He grins. "Wèi."

Curious: "What've you been doing?"

"I, er. Thought I forgot someone's birthday, and I had to go rooting around about three hundred cardboard boxes to find it."

He steps to the side, slightly, gesturing to the room behind him. At least, one assumes it's a room, underneath all the boxes.

"So I figured I might as well start compiling five centuries' worth of geneaology into something with a bloody search-function."

"Makes sense."

His smile fades, a little.

"Is this, ah ... is this a bad time, then?"

Hurriedly:

"No! Ah, no. Be nice to take a break to talk to someone who's actually, you know. Alive."

"All right." A brief pause. "It's ... somewhat on that subject I wanted to speak to you. You're aware of what happened to Wash, a few weeks ago?"

"I... yeah."

He shifts slightly, suddenly awkward - though his face is neutral enough.

"I am."

And that slight awkwardness is enough to remind Simon that Crowley not only knows now, but knew about it before it actually happened.

For a given value of before.

"I've been trying to find a good hospital we could take him to. Discreetly. For neurotreatments, for his leg."

"For - right, his leg. Um..."

He trails off, looking thoughtful.

"Depends how close to the Core you're willing to come, I guess. You get over here to Lavinia, I can definitely put you in touch with people. Same group I passed along the, er, Academy reports to, even, if you wanted to see what they've been up to."

Crowley's somewhat eager to be helpful.

Simon pauses, struck by that thought. "I'd be interested to see that, yes. How's their neurology department?"

He spreads his hands, grinning slightly.

"Give me some credit. Would I have passed the files along to them if I didn't think they were good at fixing brains?"

Simon is silent for perhaps just a half-second too long.

It's not because he's not sure of the answer to that rhetorical question.

"All right, good. Though, as you point out, it's coming close to the Core that's likely to present a problem."

"Well, I... don't know if I'll be here, I'm sort of in and out, these next few weeks, but my place is secure, and you can trust my people. What the problem is, is that people're still on edge after Mirandagate."

Deep in thought, Crowley appears unaware that he's made a political joke about half a millenium out of date.

"There've been riots - small, mostly, but security's a bit tighter than usual, so it might be smart to leave it for a few weeks. Until things've calmed down a bit."

Simon nods.

"I'm concerned that the way you brought us in last time might not be secure enough, but ... I'm afraid I don't have any better suggestions."

"...I could send out a tow, maybe," he muses. "Cook something up about, I dunno, a research project on Bentley parts in older-model boats, backwards-compatibility, something like that. If I file the paperwork beforehand, I could take you straight to the Bentley warehouses, 'stead of having wanted faces walking around the docks."

"That would definitely help. And if Wash could be taken there secretly, with only your people seeing him..."

Simon looks distant for a moment.

"I'd like to go with him, but that might be more of a risk than it's worth."

He nods in agreement.

"Might be right. I mean, we don't know what the climate'll be like when you get here, but if you want to have input, or hob-nob about the reports, probably safer to use my secure line."

"We'll see how things look when we get there, I guess. I'll let the captain know we've spoken, and ask him about the timing."

A pause.

"Thank you."

"Méi guānxi," he replies, shaking his head. "I'll start looking into ways around any red tape that might come up. Let me know when you've got an idea as to when might be good, yeah?"

"I will."

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