"Dye My Eyes and Call Me Pretty..."
Oct. 17th, 2007 08:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
psalm_onethirtyoneMordred/River/Simon I wrote for Manon during her toothache. <333 Because apparently dead crazy Orcadian + deeply disturbed psychic + slightly neurotic doctor = LOVE. :)
Partial Response
Simon wipes his arm across his forehead and then his hands on his apron, and sighs; behind him River is watching. He knows she always does, when she can. He can hear her barefoot on the floor of the surgery, coming closer until she leans her chin on his shoulder and looks over him at the man on the table, the man whose blood will not step leaking.
"Eww," she says, and then, "Partial response. He wants to be screaming, but he's not."
"Why won't it stop?" he asks, as much to himself as her.
"His heart is bleeding. Clichéd metaphors brought to life. I'll help." She moves away from him, in a wide circle around the table, and then comes back and sits beside the man, pushing him over so there's room for her.
"Don't do that," Simon says. "Don't get his blood on you."
"I have to. Otherwise he won't be able to cope." The corner of her mouth moves, resignation, and then she leans down and kisses the man, winding her hands in his hair, before Simon can stop her--before he can get his hand on her shoulder and try as gently as possible to wrench her away.
"Mei-mei, stop! Don't do that!"
Sometimes she shocks him by being stronger than he is.
She finally leans back, blood staining her shirt, and smiles at him. "Watch. He thinks I was someone else. Now he'll be fully responsive."
Six seconds later the man starts screaming.
---
River dances in small, wandering circles, graceful and wise, never bumping into anything--not his trays of surgical instruments, not the surgery table, not the bed against the wall. Her hair is long and loose as always, but to-day she has a ribbon wound in it--Kaylee, he thinks, Kaylee must have given it to her.
The man on the bed is watching her, too. His hair is black and coarse, not like the Chinese of Earth-that-was or the Orientals now; his eyes are equally dark, and his skin is pale. He lies very still, but his eyes follow River everywhere she goes.
Finally River dances over to him and kneels in front of him, putting her arms on the bed.
"Now you're living in your body. Full ambulatory power in the legs and equal strength in the arms and upper body, although slightly decreased from previous ability, due to significant loss of blood and blue thread intermingling with your skin. If Simon doesn't take it out it'll become part of you and live inside you peacefully, unless it irritates your system. If that happens he'll have to cut you open again. But he'll do it more neatly than whoever cut you open before."
The man looks at her silently.
"I think it was your brother," River says.
"River!" Simon hurries over. "I'm sorry, sir, don't--"
"My father," the man says to River. "It was my father."
"It was a long time ago."
"Sometimes."
River nods. "I have leaves living inside me."
His face turns bitter and wistful. "Do you make magic?"
"No. Magic is scientifically unsound."
"So are you."
"I'm anomalous. So are you." She frowns. "Stop arguing. Simon has to give you medicine."
The man consents.
---
Simon can see the skin locking back together and scabbing over, in thin long lines half-hidden by his careful sutures. The knots made little indentations near the places where the surgical thread disappears underneath the epidermis, and sometimes they cause irritations, leading him to lubricate the skin with lotions to keep inflammations from springing up around the wound.
The man endures this in quiet. The only person he really talks to is River, and sometimes, depending on his state at the time, he mistakes her for someone else who must be equally crazy--Simon thinks, in his more frustrated moments, doing his best to administer to two broken people at the same time while avoiding Mal's wrath. He should never have insisted on saving the man. He shouldn't have gone outside during that job, that was where it had begun, shouldn't have offered to take River outside for just a little while to get a breath of atmosphere, because River immediately said,--
"I smell blood!"
and then they were off, River tearing through the brush until she found a crumpled, blood-soaked body lying on what clearly had been a battlefield, and she chose the only living man out of the hundreds of dead ones. She dragged the man off to the side a little, and Simon carried him the rest of the way for her, while the man murmured,--
"Clarissant--God damn it, leave me there. They're dead. Clar--!"
When Simon asked what Mal was going to think, River scowled at him.
"I don't care. He's my person. You have to fix him."
So Simon set him up in the medical bay, like the dutiful brother he was. Mal, later, was furious, and Simon had no excuse--certainly River's fancy was no excuse. It was only Kaylee's putting in her word and saying they couldn't throw a sick man out once they'd brought him on, and the Shepherd's agreeing and suggesting this was an opportunity of mercy presented to them, that kept River's half-dead man on the ship and in the surgery.
Simon looks down at the still body and sighs. The man's black eyes are closed, he's breathing surprisingly peacefully, but he has a penchant for screaming when it's unexpected. So far there's been no fever and no decay, a pleasant surprise that is at the same time unnerving.
Simon shuts his own eyes and strokes back the black hair, trying to imagine why, why River would pick this man, why River would attach on to a dying body and beg him to bring it back to life--performing miracles for her sake, which he would do, but he's exhausted himself from so long sitting awake or being woken by cries. It's useless to look for explanation, though. River has no set pattern.
Suddenly a strong hand catches hold of his arm at the wrist, and he's shocked back into full awareness to see the man staring at up at him.
"God damn it. What are you doing to me?"
"Nothing," he says, softly, best soothing voice. "You haven't had any pain control in a few hours. Would you like some?"
"Your sister--"
"River."
"God." The man laughs breathlessly. "Are you sure she doesn't do magic?"
"No," Simon says, and contemplates the ambiguity of that response.
---
"He's too awake for my liking, doctor. Next star we come to can sustain him--hell, if it can't--I want him out."
Simon almost puts his head in his hands. "River--"
"I don't care what your crazy sister thinks. He's going to be askin' questions. It's a wonder he hasn't already. I'm tired of him being on my boat."
"Yes, sir," he agrees, because he knows the man will be able to walk, soon, anyway, because it's been months, because they still don't know his name, and because he, Simon, would rather be blushingly awkward with Kaylee than try to reason out the confusion of hands on hands and the way the man looks at both him and River.
---
"We've found a star to let you out on," he explains.
The man grimaces. "I've worn out my welcome, have I? All right. Is there anything to eat there?"
"It's fairly civilised."
"Better than usual."
Simon feels too coldly clinical to let any colour rise to his face, despite the man watching him closely. Behind them, River is singing and winding his gauze bandages around her arms.
"Thank you," the man says.
Simon can't think of an answer to that (River told me to? It's my obligation as a doctor?), so he just nods, and then River comes over with her arms white and soft and actually smiles at the man.
"Mallory reported inaccurately. That wasn't Camlann."
"Shut up," the man says, and kisses her. Before Simon can protest or punch him--the thought does occur to him, for a brief instant, except that River wouldn't let herself be kissed unless she wanted it, or didn't mind--he kisses Simon, too, for a long moment, and his mouth is sweet and tastes inexplicably of wine and heather. "It happens all the time," he says to River.
River shakes her head and says, "My brother and I hope you come to visit again."
Partial Response
Simon wipes his arm across his forehead and then his hands on his apron, and sighs; behind him River is watching. He knows she always does, when she can. He can hear her barefoot on the floor of the surgery, coming closer until she leans her chin on his shoulder and looks over him at the man on the table, the man whose blood will not step leaking.
"Eww," she says, and then, "Partial response. He wants to be screaming, but he's not."
"Why won't it stop?" he asks, as much to himself as her.
"His heart is bleeding. Clichéd metaphors brought to life. I'll help." She moves away from him, in a wide circle around the table, and then comes back and sits beside the man, pushing him over so there's room for her.
"Don't do that," Simon says. "Don't get his blood on you."
"I have to. Otherwise he won't be able to cope." The corner of her mouth moves, resignation, and then she leans down and kisses the man, winding her hands in his hair, before Simon can stop her--before he can get his hand on her shoulder and try as gently as possible to wrench her away.
"Mei-mei, stop! Don't do that!"
Sometimes she shocks him by being stronger than he is.
She finally leans back, blood staining her shirt, and smiles at him. "Watch. He thinks I was someone else. Now he'll be fully responsive."
Six seconds later the man starts screaming.
River dances in small, wandering circles, graceful and wise, never bumping into anything--not his trays of surgical instruments, not the surgery table, not the bed against the wall. Her hair is long and loose as always, but to-day she has a ribbon wound in it--Kaylee, he thinks, Kaylee must have given it to her.
The man on the bed is watching her, too. His hair is black and coarse, not like the Chinese of Earth-that-was or the Orientals now; his eyes are equally dark, and his skin is pale. He lies very still, but his eyes follow River everywhere she goes.
Finally River dances over to him and kneels in front of him, putting her arms on the bed.
"Now you're living in your body. Full ambulatory power in the legs and equal strength in the arms and upper body, although slightly decreased from previous ability, due to significant loss of blood and blue thread intermingling with your skin. If Simon doesn't take it out it'll become part of you and live inside you peacefully, unless it irritates your system. If that happens he'll have to cut you open again. But he'll do it more neatly than whoever cut you open before."
The man looks at her silently.
"I think it was your brother," River says.
"River!" Simon hurries over. "I'm sorry, sir, don't--"
"My father," the man says to River. "It was my father."
"It was a long time ago."
"Sometimes."
River nods. "I have leaves living inside me."
His face turns bitter and wistful. "Do you make magic?"
"No. Magic is scientifically unsound."
"So are you."
"I'm anomalous. So are you." She frowns. "Stop arguing. Simon has to give you medicine."
The man consents.
Simon can see the skin locking back together and scabbing over, in thin long lines half-hidden by his careful sutures. The knots made little indentations near the places where the surgical thread disappears underneath the epidermis, and sometimes they cause irritations, leading him to lubricate the skin with lotions to keep inflammations from springing up around the wound.
The man endures this in quiet. The only person he really talks to is River, and sometimes, depending on his state at the time, he mistakes her for someone else who must be equally crazy--Simon thinks, in his more frustrated moments, doing his best to administer to two broken people at the same time while avoiding Mal's wrath. He should never have insisted on saving the man. He shouldn't have gone outside during that job, that was where it had begun, shouldn't have offered to take River outside for just a little while to get a breath of atmosphere, because River immediately said,--
"I smell blood!"
and then they were off, River tearing through the brush until she found a crumpled, blood-soaked body lying on what clearly had been a battlefield, and she chose the only living man out of the hundreds of dead ones. She dragged the man off to the side a little, and Simon carried him the rest of the way for her, while the man murmured,--
"Clarissant--God damn it, leave me there. They're dead. Clar--!"
When Simon asked what Mal was going to think, River scowled at him.
"I don't care. He's my person. You have to fix him."
So Simon set him up in the medical bay, like the dutiful brother he was. Mal, later, was furious, and Simon had no excuse--certainly River's fancy was no excuse. It was only Kaylee's putting in her word and saying they couldn't throw a sick man out once they'd brought him on, and the Shepherd's agreeing and suggesting this was an opportunity of mercy presented to them, that kept River's half-dead man on the ship and in the surgery.
Simon looks down at the still body and sighs. The man's black eyes are closed, he's breathing surprisingly peacefully, but he has a penchant for screaming when it's unexpected. So far there's been no fever and no decay, a pleasant surprise that is at the same time unnerving.
Simon shuts his own eyes and strokes back the black hair, trying to imagine why, why River would pick this man, why River would attach on to a dying body and beg him to bring it back to life--performing miracles for her sake, which he would do, but he's exhausted himself from so long sitting awake or being woken by cries. It's useless to look for explanation, though. River has no set pattern.
Suddenly a strong hand catches hold of his arm at the wrist, and he's shocked back into full awareness to see the man staring at up at him.
"God damn it. What are you doing to me?"
"Nothing," he says, softly, best soothing voice. "You haven't had any pain control in a few hours. Would you like some?"
"Your sister--"
"River."
"God." The man laughs breathlessly. "Are you sure she doesn't do magic?"
"No," Simon says, and contemplates the ambiguity of that response.
"He's too awake for my liking, doctor. Next star we come to can sustain him--hell, if it can't--I want him out."
Simon almost puts his head in his hands. "River--"
"I don't care what your crazy sister thinks. He's going to be askin' questions. It's a wonder he hasn't already. I'm tired of him being on my boat."
"Yes, sir," he agrees, because he knows the man will be able to walk, soon, anyway, because it's been months, because they still don't know his name, and because he, Simon, would rather be blushingly awkward with Kaylee than try to reason out the confusion of hands on hands and the way the man looks at both him and River.
"We've found a star to let you out on," he explains.
The man grimaces. "I've worn out my welcome, have I? All right. Is there anything to eat there?"
"It's fairly civilised."
"Better than usual."
Simon feels too coldly clinical to let any colour rise to his face, despite the man watching him closely. Behind them, River is singing and winding his gauze bandages around her arms.
"Thank you," the man says.
Simon can't think of an answer to that (River told me to? It's my obligation as a doctor?), so he just nods, and then River comes over with her arms white and soft and actually smiles at the man.
"Mallory reported inaccurately. That wasn't Camlann."
"Shut up," the man says, and kisses her. Before Simon can protest or punch him--the thought does occur to him, for a brief instant, except that River wouldn't let herself be kissed unless she wanted it, or didn't mind--he kisses Simon, too, for a long moment, and his mouth is sweet and tastes inexplicably of wine and heather. "It happens all the time," he says to River.
River shakes her head and says, "My brother and I hope you come to visit again."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-18 01:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-18 01:37 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-18 07:43 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-19 01:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-19 04:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-19 04:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-18 08:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-18 09:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-19 01:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-19 01:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-19 11:23 am (UTC)what planet do you think I live on?
and der. haven't I made it abundantly plain? ^___^
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-19 05:58 pm (UTC)It's still astonishing!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-18 12:04 pm (UTC)*flails* I love this. The three of them are just... argh. And you've made it clear to me that I need to suck it up and stop shying away from writing crew members other than Simon, Kaylee and Shepherd Book. Ssh.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-19 01:49 am (UTC)Zomg, you need to write them for ME.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-19 01:51 am (UTC)If you think of it/want to, assign me a drabble. I need someone to continually prod me into finishing something. (Starting, no problems. Did you see my work in progress meme about a month ago?)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-19 01:57 am (UTC)Oo! Can I ask you for Simon, Kaylee? (I don't think I did...!)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-19 02:00 am (UTC)You may! (You haven't. You asked me for Kaylee before, and Simon kind of ended up there, but...yes. *thinks of something clever. Or not.*)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-19 02:02 am (UTC)Yay, thank you! (aha. Do you have a link?)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-19 02:09 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-19 02:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-21 01:52 pm (UTC)