gonna_live | (no subject)

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."

He puts down the rag, and glances over at where the second thermos and the bag from dinner are stowed neatly against the bulkhead.

"I think we've earned a little relaxation," he says, glancing at her.

Kaylee seems a little preoccupied with the pad. "Mm."

"If I remember correctly," he says, moving over to the bag, "from the first time you took me on as a mechanic's assistant, there's one important job I still have to do."

He's bending down to pick up the thermos and the bag, and rummaging inside the latter.

She doesn't look up. "What's that?"

After a long beat, something is held up next to the pad: a clear plastic glass filled with a frozen substance, deep pink, smelling of fruit and alcohol.

"Bring you drinks."

Kaylee looks from the glass to Simon, and raises her eyebrows.

"You're a bad influence, you know that?"

(But she can't quite hide a smile as she takes it from him.)

He pours a second glassful for himself, and sets the second thermos aside.

"I learned from the best," he assures her.

"Yeah, and watch me wake up hung over."

Doesn't seem to be stopping her from drinking, though.

He leans against the bulkhead next to her and takes a sip of his own drink.

And stretches, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Take somethin' before you go to bed," she says absently. "It'll help you in the mornin'."

"I'll see what I have handy," he murmurs.

"...how're you feeling?"

A moment's consideration.

"Not drunk enough."

She works on remedying that.

A low chuckle, and he takes another swallow. "There's more when that's finished."

"Bad influence," Kaylee says again, and reaches her free hand up to the back of her neck, rubbing at the muscle there.

"Let me," he murmurs, and reaches over with his own free hand.

She makes a small noise of protest, but doesn't actually move. "Don't have to."

"I know."

His fingers knead the tense muscle, smoothing along the line of her neck.

"Might almost think you miss me." With a tiny smile.