gonna_live | (no subject)

He's shaking his head.

"It isn't about death." Beat. "Or not directly."

I need to be patient.

"Then what's it about?"

His expression's a touch blank, as though not sure where the confusion came in.

"Religion," he says. "Prayer. ... Faith, I guess."

Just for an instant, a flash of -- irritation? anger? -- crosses her face.

She folds her arms.

All Kaylee says, though: "You want to think long and hard about why you're askin' him before you do it. 'Cause if your response to something that personal that he showed you is 'now you need to go out of your way to do this thing for me' -- that's not polite."

"No," he says, sounding faintly taken aback, "no, I wouldn't ask him right away. Not so soon after this."

Half a beat.

"I did say," lower, "I would want to understand why I'm asking before I ask."

Tight-lipped, she looks at him.

And says nothing.

Very soft, and a little apprehensive: "What is it?"

"You don't find faith in a church, Simon." Her words are clipped. "And I don't think you're capable of suspendin' whatever disbelief you got long enough to make it through a service long enough to learn something. What're you gonna do if they start to pray? Call 'em a bunch of harmless eccentrics like you did me the one time you caught me at it? How good do you think that's gonna go over?"

Simon opens his mouth.

Closes it, and looks away. Even in the room's dim light, his flush is clearly visible.

"That was a long time ago," he says, barely audible.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't so long ago that you looked me in the eye and told me you could stop death because that's what you do. That's playin' God. And that ain't exactly gonna go over well in church, neither. Or are you gonna say that opinion's changed?"

"I thi--"

His voice tries to twist upward and away from him; he presses his lips shut for a moment, and closes his eyes, and when he opens them his face has sealed over.

Low, but perfectly clear and toneless: "I think I've been quite thoroughly disabused of any notion I may have once held on the subject of being God."

"I don't."

Now she does look angry.

"You do whatever you want. Convert. I don't care. But whatever belief you think you got -- it's hollow. Because you're arrogant. You've been arrogant. And I don't see a ruttin' thing that's changed."

"I see." Whispered.

The flush has drained out of his face, taking most of the original color with it.

He shifts to the edge of the bed opposite her, brings his feet to the floor, stands up.

"Excuse me, please," and he starts for the bathroom door.

She watches him go, and waits several seconds after the door shuts.

Her hair's tangled.

(He did seem to like it.)

Feeling ghostlike, she sits on the edge of the bed, absently raking her fingers through the blonde mass.

Thinking.

When it's manageable, she pulls it back, and tries tying it up in a loose knot at the nape of her neck.

He spends some time bent over the sink, clutching its edge with unsteady hands, eyes pressed shut, until he's sure he isn't going to weep or throw up.

The violence of his own reaction is entirely too familiar.

After a few minutes the bathroom door opens.

Simon looks drained and pale, and doesn't say a word.

Good. It gives her an opportunity.

Slowly, as though expecting to lose her balance, she stands.

"I was harsh with you just now." Her words are painstaking. "I'm sorry for that."

"No," he whispers, and his voice is hollow and empty. "No, you were right."

"...I was harsh," she repeats, a little more gently, and doesn't add I didn't say I wasn't right. "Will you come sit with me?"

After a moment he nods.

And comes closer, to stand by the edge of the bed.

Kaylee takes his hand; when he doesn't pull away, she sits.

"It bothers me a whole hell of a lot," she says, "that you'd -- go to him for talk about God. Like it's something I don't know nothin' about. That you'd trust him with it when you never trusted me with it. And when you make me feel stupid for havin' inclinations that way my own self. Is his faith better'n mine? Or do you just not trust me?"

He sits when she does, his eyes on the floor.

Slowly, over her last few words, he looks up.

"No," he says unsteadily, "neither of those. I didn't ..."

Kaylee waits.

"I was trying to talk to you about it."

It's hard to get the words out.

"Just now."

She only feels guilty for a moment.

Quiet: "That's a pretty funny way to go about it. Sayin' you'd rather go to service there."

Very low: "It was just a thought. I didn't mean ...

"I'm sorry."