gonna_live | (no subject)

"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."

"If I'm takin' you right."

There's a small tremor in her voice.

"And you're honest about -- being curious. What changed?"

"I don't know." Not much louder than a whisper. "Maybe nothing. It's not ... I don't have any intention of converting. I, I don't ..."

His gaze is back on the floor, a few inches from his feet.

"You said it yourself. I haven't suddenly learned how to believe in something."

She strokes the back of his hand with her thumb. "But you -- what, you want to get on speakin' terms with the man upstairs?"

Simon shakes his head.

"I tried that once."

He isn't aware he's said the words out loud.

Kaylee looks at him a little sharply -- but doesn't comment.

"If it's not about God," she says, slow, "then who's it about? Him? Her? You?"

"I want to understand why people believe."

It sounds, ironically enough, like a confession.

She lets out a breath.

Gently:

"You're not... there's not an easy answer that fits everybody like a glove. You know that, right?"

He nods. "I know. That's the, that's the whole point."

"...I don't understand." Even if he won't look up, she's still trying to see his expression, meet his eyes. "You want to ask him specific, but you know the answer won't help you much? Because it's not the only one?"