simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

The dividing line between sunlight and shadow is just crossing this particular slice of this particular planet, as it rotates away from its parent star.

Which is to say: it's early evening. Three tiny moons race each other backwards across the sky, away from the last embers of the sunset, growing and phasing towards full, white and pale gold against the deepening blue, pacing their brilliant reflections in the deeper blue water of a glimmering lake.

There are no higher life forms on this planet yet: its indigenous life hasn't advanced much past fairly small insects and lizards, and it'll be some centuries yet before any human colony ships make it this far.

Which may leave the casual observer at a loss to explain the tiny snug house at the edge of the lake, or the carefully tended grove of fruit trees behind it.

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They're fireflies.

Anthy is nothing if not surprising.

It is a mystery what they will do with the ski mask.

Well, for the moment Simon's been using it to wrap the jar of fireflies. But now that strange, bewildering era in its life is over, and perhaps someday it will return to being a ski mask and share tales of its adventures.

Simon opens the jar, and out stream three
And I spent my nights at the edge of the wood catching fireflies
five
Little white stars I could hold in my hand
eight
That had never quite finished falling out of the skies
two dozen tiny sparks of light.
And I wished on every single one before I let it go
Did I get what I wished for? - Only me and the fireflies need to know

That would require skiing. And talking. And though it has a mouth, it needs a larynx.
Neon heart, dayglo eyes
It's full dusk, now, and if Kaylee were a few years younger she'd try to catch one in her hands, because it's what you do when presented with fireflies.
City lit by fireflies
She's not, though. Twenty-three years old, and standing beside her husband on a planet that's their own place. It's maybe not a secret, but -- it's private. And that's even better.
They're advertising in the skies
She watches them go, roam, fade --
For people like us
-- and smiles.

"Shall we?"

And Simon offers her his arm.

She takes it, and they walk -- the grass is lush and green, and Kaylee wishes, absently, that she weren't wearing shoes.

There's a swing on the front porch; it's moving a little in the breeze.

Kaylee sees it, and can't help but grin.

The door opens to his hand.

There's no lock.

That makes him uneasy for a moment, until he realizes: there's no need for one, here.

The door opens.

It's light and airy on the inside, and not large. Against one wall there's an impossibly soft-looking couch, and a couple of overstuffed ottomans, and a fireplace -- why, Kaylee's not entirely sure; it's kind of warm outside, but maybe it's summer. Feels like summer, that's for sure.

Above their heads is a ceiling fan, turning, turning. Somehow soothing.

And all around the walls --

Bookshelves.

Stacked full.

Oh.

Simon starts to laugh, a tiny sound barely louder than his breath -- not because anything is funny, but out of sheer delight.

Because. It's theirs.

And it's home.

"We've got a house in the country," he says, wonderingly.

"Seems that way," says Kaylee, a little absently.

Absently because she has unslung the strand of Christmas lights and is now mentally eyeing where they should go.

She takes a closer step to a bookshelf, eyes glancing over the titles --

"Hey. I used to have a copy of this when I was a kid -- took it everywhere -- and then Bennett ripped it up -- "

Kaylee pulls the book from the shelf and immediately begins to flip through it.

Simon wanders around the room, looking at titles, noticing little decorative touches -- there's a vase of dried flowers on the little coffee table, and when was that put there? --

There'll be time to explore the shelves.

It's that thought that makes Kaylee smile as she replaces the book and wanders into the adjacent room.

"Wow."

Then something that sounds abruptly like somebody flopping down on a bed.

And maybe -- just maybe -- tucking her arms behind her head. And grinning. Though the grinning part is silent.

"You can't be tired yet," Simon calls down the hallway. "It's only just sundown."

"What's with the rules?" Kaylee calls back. Still grinning. Still with her arms behind her head. "Can't a girl just enjoy herself without somebody tryin' to ruin her fun?"

Simon has wandered into the kitchen, by this time.

"It's not a rule. Just an observation."

There's an abundance of counter space and cabinets, and a small refrigerator and a two-burner stove, and a blue-curtained window that overlooks the lake.

Kaylee rolls her eyes.

Then she closes them.

This?

This is nice.

And eventually he wanders into the bedroom.

"Hey."

There are glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.

Windows run along one wall. In the daytime, the room will be full of natural light.

Kaylee's eyes are still closed. "Hey."

These windows overlook the grove of fruit trees. Right now in the deepening dusk, all that's visible is a leafy mass of shadow.

With here and there a brief glow of golden-green light, there and gone.

The fireflies are making themselves at home.

Simon sits down on the edge of the bed, and runs a hand down Kaylee's arm.

Very gravely she says, "Shh. I'm asleep."

Also, grinning.

"Oh."

He lifts his hand, carefully.

"I should let you sleep, then."

One eye opens.

Just one.

He is therefore eyed.

He looks back at her with Total Innocence.

Total.

Cue instant suspicion.

Amazing, isn't it, how one eye can convey Iiiiii don't know what you're up to but you'd better behave.

"I thought you were sleeping."

"Some of us," says Kaylee, who does august and menacing about as well as a kitten who's just woken up, "can sleep with one eye open."