gonna_live (
gonna_live) wrote2009-01-04 10:04 pm
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They're back.
The weekend went all right. Could have gone worse. Kaylee is sorting out clothes, and reorganizing things into appropriate piles.
Keeping house.
(Playing house, she thinks, with her now-customary gray-feeling blanket settling in over her thoughts. All there's ever going to be, because you can't snap yourself out of this. Who do you think you're fooling, anyway.)
The weekend went all right. Could have gone worse. Kaylee is sorting out clothes, and reorganizing things into appropriate piles.
Keeping house.
(Playing house, she thinks, with her now-customary gray-feeling blanket settling in over her thoughts. All there's ever going to be, because you can't snap yourself out of this. Who do you think you're fooling, anyway.)
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He hoped the time back on Serenity would help. But she was quiet, and polite, and social, and no more relaxed than during the week; she spoke when spoken to, answered the crew's questions about Osiris shallowly and then changed the subject.
It's getting bad again.
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Simon's watching her. It'd be nice to get away from that, too.
She leans back against the counter, and fishes out a plain glass mug. (Also new.)
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"Hey," he says softly, putting a hand down next to hers on the counter.
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She forces half a smile. "Hey."
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(His mouth opens slightly, unconsciously, and closes again.)
He can't ask anything like that because there's only one way she can answer, and it's got nothing to do with how she is. And he can't tell if she wants him here or wants him to leave her alone --
Very slowly, very carefully, he reaches out to fold her into a hug.
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But only long enough to take the kettle off the burner. After that, she lets herself sink into him, with a soft, tired sigh.
Kaylee's settling in here, at least.
(And at least he's not watching her, any more.)
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Stifles the urge to say something inane like well, that's one week down or you can tell me if it gets too bad to bear.
There has to be something he can say.
There isn't.
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At least then the specter of their return in a few days wouldn't be hanging over her. How are you supposed to enjoy a weekend home if you know you're leaving again too soon?
Kaylee feels tears well. She takes a deep breath, holds it, makes them go away.
She has to be able to make this work. No matter what it means, or what it costs her.
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He knows what kind of an insult he will be offering her if he suggests that, or even asks whether, they should give up and go home.
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Kaylee's exhausted.
She lets her head rest on Simon's shoulder.
She could ask what she's thinking, but Kaylee's learned about asking questions she doesn't really want the answer to. Besides, she's pretty sure she already knows.
...and there goes the sick lump of dread deep in her belly. Because if he brings it up --
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But he won't take this away from her. He won't take it out of her hands.
(Not, says a very level voice in his head, until things reach the point where you'll be endangering her if you don't.)
He strokes her hair with one hand, slow and soothing.
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"Do you need to study," she asks, without lifting her head.
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"Can we sit up a while."
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Still soft, and with a small smile in it: "Dangran."
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(She's not moving.)
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"Do you want to read, maybe? Or just sit?"
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And the thing is --
She's asking for something. After a week of silence and avoidance and whatever-you-think-is-best, she's asking him for something.
It's a relief, and a fragile hope.
His arm around her shoulders tightens briefly, then loosens.
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It's not just comfortable. It's comfort. And nobody else can see, or can judge -- this is how they are. (This is how the near-paralyzing fear recedes for a little while.)
When she wakes up the next morning, it's in their bed, with the realization she's been carried there. It's a fairly novel thing that her sleep was too deep to notice.
Kaylee turns over and casts an eye on the clock, then on Simon.
There's an hour yet. She moves closer, and dives back in.