gonna_live | (no subject)

"I oughtn't, but..." A little wry. "I don't sleep so good over there."

She's got a pallet set up -- her hammock would just be too weird -- and she's taken to napping there for three or four hours at a time and working overnight a few nights a week. Including last night.

"And you're there tonight as well?" He rolls onto his side, lifts himself up onto one elbow. "A nap might not be a bad idea."

"...oh, so now it's your turn to be a bad influence?" She grins up at him. "Is that what this is?"

"If you like." He grins back. "I don't get to be a bad influence very often, you know."

"I think I like." With her free hand she reaches up and touches his face. "You gonna stick around with me?"

"I was planning to."

He bends and kisses her cheek.

"When should I wake you?"

"No more'n two hours?"

"Hao. I'll be here."

He shifts to bring himself a little closer to a sitting position.

She reaches out. "Thought you was gonna stay -- ?"

"I'm staying," he assures her.

And reaches out to gather her sock-clad feet into his lap, rubbing them gently.

"Mm." Kaylee closes her eyes again. "Don't have to do that."

"I know." His thumb slides along her instep, firm enough not to tickle.

She lets out a long sigh, and doesn't say anything else.

When her breathing slows and deepens to the pattern of sleep, he gently lifts her feet out of his lap and settles them on the bed, then slides off and moves to the chair.

He can't do any packing without waking her, but he's got reading to do anyway.

About two hours later, as promised, he sets aside his datareader and moves to wake her.

And she's all business, with her hair pulled back and her own list.

As they walk into Milliways, she's running down their itinerary for the evening: mostly work on the bridge, but after that they'll move into the engine room to make sure the changes on the bridge are being recognized by the systems in the engine room.

Down to the garage, and to work.

He's in there working beside her, sleeves of his oldest shirt rolled up, getting his hands dirty. They don't talk much aside from what's necessary for the job, but it doesn't feel like a distancing.

They've been at it for close to two hours before Simon calls a break, and volunteers to head upstairs to get them dinner.

Kaylee takes that time to wrap up work on the bridge and move her tools back to the engine room.

She glances around, a little despairing, toolchest at her feet, and wipes her brow with a long sigh.

Simon gets back only a little after she's finished moving; he's brought a bag with hot sandwiches and fried paradoxes and carrot sticks, and a thermos of sweet iced tea. And a second thermos, which he says is "for later".

They find space to sit down, and Simon unwraps everything.

He gets a brief kiss for his trouble, but he doesn't get much conversation over dinner. Kaylee eats with grim determination and no visible pleasure; the whole time she keeps making notes on the task list she's got to hand.

She clears -- it's only fair, she tells him -- and they get back to work.

Down the task list, one item at a time, in systematic order; putting the mortally injured heart of the ship back together.

It's hard work, as promised, but not backbreaking.

A few hours later, and much grimier, she looks down at the list, and turns off the pad.

"I'm beat." Kaylee sounds weary, too. She leans against a bulkhead. "You okay callin' it quits for now?"

"Oh yes," Simon breathes out in undisguised relief.

He casts about for something to wipe his hands on; finds a mostly clean rag, and starts to scrub away the grime as he moves to sit down.

"Made some good headway, though." Kaylee closes her eyes. "Might could even sleep in a little. Six instead of four."

"...what time is it now?" he asks, glancing around for a timepiece.

She fishes the pad out of her pocket and turns it on again. "Twenty-one forty-five. Not too bad."