Chapter 15: In which Simon gets his way and Mal doesn't
Gabriel and Comworth both stood and walked over to discover what had upset Regan enough for the protective mother to drag her daughter out of bed. Simon was pinned in the armchair by innocent River, who had been thrust so close to him, forced to stare at the red scars running up and down her arm.
"I told her," River assured her brother, who was as pained at seeing the arms now as he had been when putting the cream on them. "Punishment. She didn't believe me. She said it wasn't right."
"This looks like abuse, Simon," Gabriel said with a just anger. "Those criminals you've been cavorting with . . ."
"They didn't do it," Simon said, wishing he could stand and look his father in the eye. "I didn't do it. River did it."
"River cut herself?" Regan said. "Simon, how could you . . ."
"But I did," the girl said, trying to turn to her mother. Regan, however, was behind her daughter, so she ended up talking primarily to Governor Comworth. "Simon wouldn't punish me--he couldn't. I did it. I kissed a boy and I . . . I fell over the waterfall."
"Fell over a waterfall?" Gabriel demanded of his son.
"It's a metaphor," Simon sighed. "That's practically the only way she speaks anymore. Haven't you noticed?"
"River, you told me it was a punishment," Regan said, spinning her daughter around so that the tips of her brown hair flew in Simon's face.
"It was," River insisted. "I thought it was. I was confused."
"Confused?" Gabriel harrumphed. "What do you mean? You don't remember who cut you?"
"I remember," River said. "I remember everything."
"River, who did this?" Regan pleaded. "Was it Simon? Was it one of his bad friends?
River laughed. "They're not his friends," she said. "They pity us, they adore us, they respect us, they mock us. You mix it up, it doesn't turn into friendship."
"River," Simon said although he didn't know why.
She turned to look at him and smiled softly. "They're better than friends, aren't they?" She asked. "They're like a family."
Simon smiled sadly back up at her and nodded, "They are like a family."
"Did someone in this family do this to you River?" Gabriel asked again.
"River did it," the girl said. "For punishment."
"Do you want an explanation?" Simon said, from behind his sister, "Or are you going to continue asking River questions?"
"River can speak for herself," Regan said.
Simon didn't respond. He figured they could talk to River for as long as they liked, but eventually they were going to need him to make what sense was to be made out of what she said. He didn't worry for a second that she'd betray the crew of Serenity. She'd promised, sort of, and Simon trusted her implicitly. While the adults tried to understand what she said, he might as well enjoy his coffee, which was just about at the perfect temperature by now.
"River, dear, please can you tell me exactly what happened, sweetheart?" Regan asked, a little desperately.
"Why does Simon get a drink?" the girl said, looking again over her shoulder at her brother.
"You never mind Simon," Gabriel said, taking his daughter by the shoulders and leading her over to the couch. He plopped her down, and he and Regan sat on either side.
"I could get you something, sweetheart," Comworth offered. "Not coffee, but perhaps hot chocolate?"
"See, Simon," River said, leaning forward away from her parents, "I told you Uncle Reggie would have Hot chocolate!"
"Yes, River, you did," Simon nodded.
"But no tag, though," the girl sighed, leaning back into the couch. She turned to her parents, "Genie has to be a lady."
"River, please," Regan pleaded. "Tell us what happened to your arms."
"I told you," River said. She seemed baffled that her parents hadn't picked up on her explanation the first time. "I had to be punished."
"What for?" Gabriel asked.
"Jack," River said warmly. "I thought I was bad, but Simon was sinking." She leaned forward a little and started to whisper, as if she was afraid they'd be overheard, "He said they were wrong. He said that . . . that Jack was ok." She leaned back again and smiled. Her voice was warm and happy again, "Simon said that."
"Who's Jack?" Gabriel said.
"He's got brown eyes and short hair," the girl said, her voice dreamy as she blushed prettily. "He dances and he laughs, and he doesn't think mean things ever, and he smiles at me."
That was not the answer her father was looking for. "Simon," he sapped. "Who is Jack?"
"Jack," the boy said, looking up from his coffee. "Is everything River said. He's a boy, about her age. They danced, they played, innocently, and they kissed, again, innocently. But River, she . . . what they did to her, for three years . . . she didn't know how to deal with her emotions."
"And you expect us to believe that she cut her own arms because she kissed a boy?" Gabriel said. "Simon, that is sick."
"No argument here," the boy said.
"How could you?" Regan gasped. "I thought you loved your sister. I thought what you did, however wrong, was out of love."
"She told you," Simon said, trying not to show how crushed he was by his parents' lack of trust. He knew he'd done things they saw as horrid. He knew they wouldn't understand. But he hadn't realized that they could ever even think that he'd hurt River. If they could think that of him, Simon realized, they probably could, and did, imagine a host of other terrible things about his character. "She did it to herself. I . . . I stopped her."
"No, you didn't," River laughed. "Ca . . .he did. You know, HIM."
"I know, River," Simon nodded. He felt like he was going to start crying. He took another deep drink of his coffee and hoped no one noticed.
"Here you are, River, dear," Comworth said, handing the young girl a cup exactly like Simon's only filled with creamy hot chocolate.
"Thank you, Uncle Reggie," River said sweetly. "You give good treats. We always said."
"You're welcome," Comworth said, smiling at her. "River, will you promise to tell me the absolute truth, no metaphors or lies, no matter what."
"No," River said as her smile slipped and her pretty brow furrowed. "She can't make promises. They won't let her keep them. And if a train leaves from Ariel moving at three hundred kph and another train leaves two hours later from Persephone moving at six hundred kph they'll crash and everyone will die."
"That's not very pleasant, River," Gabriel said. "Uncle Reggie just gave you a drink. Be polite."
"I'm trying to explain," River said. "I don't want anyone to die."
"No one wants anyone to die," Comworth soothed. "We just want you to tell us plainly how your came to hurt your arms."
River's mouth twisted itself into a frown and tears started to well up in her eyes. "I told you, over again and twice. I apologized and I didn't do it again."
"It's all right, River," Simon said, quickly putting down his coffee cup and rushing over to his sister. As he fell onto his knees in front of her, he marveled that no one had yet stopped him.
"It's not all right!" River screeched. She was starting to shake. Simon quickly grabbed the hot chocolate, which was being shaken out of the cup and raining into the saucer, and put it on the floor behind him, vaguely registering that his godfather picked it up and placed it on the coffee table. "They don't believe me! They think I'm a liar, that I spin stories like old spiders spin webs! They think they're a trap and if you get caught the black monster with a million eyes and eight legs comes and you get eaten. Simon, I don't want to die!"
"You're not going to die, River," Simon said, holding his sister's hands firmly in his, her eyes locked with his. "You know you are safe here."
"I can't answer any more," River said, her little well of anger lapsing out into just sadness. "I can't."
"No more questions," Simon promised her, asking in the same breath, "Do you want to finish your hot chocolate?"
"Too sweet," River sniffed. "I like what we have at home."
Simon smiled up at his sister, and wiped a tear off her cheek. "It's time for bed, mei mei. It was time for bed a while ago."
"I don't wanna sleep," River said. "I ran out, remember."
"I remember."
"They'll get me at night."
"No, they won't," Simon said. "Because you're here. It's safe here."
"You don't believe that," River said.
"You do."
"Will you come, if I have . . . if they . . ." she said, too afraid of her own nightmares to finish the sentence.
"That's up to Mom and Dad," Simon said, for the first time breaking eye contact with his sister and glancing to his father on her right and his mother on her left, both of whom where watching the whole interaction with confusion and concern.
"They don't believe, do they?" River asked, leaning forward, whispering. "They played ball in the house and the pretty vase got broken. They think it can be glued back together. But it can't, too many pieces. And you try to pick them up but there're sharp and you cut your fingers and blood leaks out all over the clean white carpeting."
"River, it's all right," Simon said, reaching up and gently touching her face. She leaned into the touch and smiled, even as she was crying.
"Now three things are ruined," River said. "The pretty vase, the white carpet, and you."
"She's talking gibberish," Gabriel said, breaking the enchantment River had spun over the room. Everyone but River took a deep breath, as if they'd been holding it through the girl's tirade. And everyone's but River's eyes fell quickly to the ground, a way from the girl's pretty face.
"River, dear, your brother is right; it's time for bed," Regan said, wrapping her arms around the girl and pulling her up.
"Can't sleep," River said. "The walls are too thick and the hallways are too long."
"It will be all right, River," Simon said, standing and stepping out of the way, allowing for his mother and sister to glide out of the room.
"Of course it will," Regan said. "I'll sleep with you. I'll keep you safe. Mother's are much better than brothers at keeping the nightmares away."
River regarded her mother skeptically as they exited. "You can't see the monsters you don't believe in," she told the elder woman. "That's the trick, how they get you; they make it so you don't believe."
"A mother can scare away any monster," Regan assured her daughter as they left the room.
"Not a monster you don't believe in," River insisted, her voice made it clear how very afraid she was. "It's how they get you. It's their best trick."
There was a moment of silence as the men listened to ebbing intonations of River and Regan's conversation drift down the hall. When they were truly gone, Simon took a deep breath and said, "I can explain the cuts."
"So you did cut her," Gabriel said, looking at his son with a near passionate hatred.
"No!" Simon insisted. "She did cut herself and if you will listen for a minute, I can tell you why."
"I have heard quite enough of your pathetic, obtuse explanations," Gabriel said, his voice rising.
"Now, stop," Comworth interjected. "Simon hasn't gotten much of a chance to explain anything."
"When we ask it of him, he refused," Gabriel said.
"Than perhaps we should take advantage of his offer," Comworth insisted.
"Just because he feels he's finally constructed a good lie . . ." Gabriel started.
"That's hardly fair," Comworth snapped, then turning to Simon, said, "Please, I want to hear a logical explanation of why River's arms are covered in gashes."
Simon swallowed and took a deep breath. "That school . . ."
"Oh, it's the schools fault," Gabriel interjected. "Perhaps the teachers cut her?"
"Be quite," Comworth told his old friend harshly.
"They did experiments," Simon said, raising his voice to match the other men's. "They cut into her brain." His father opened his mouth, undoubtedly to say something about how ridiculously paranoid his assertion was. Simon kept talking, didn't give him a chance. "You don't have to believe me. Bring in another doctor; have a neural scan done. There are scalpel scars riddling her gray matter. The amygdala is totally gone."
"What does that mean, Simon?" Comworth asked.
"The amygdala coordinates the actions of the autonomic and endocrine systems and is involved in emotions," Simon said, quoting perfectly from classical medical texts. "In layman's tearms: it regulates your feelings, regulates your response to them.
"She went off into the woods and she kissed a boy. I mean, there's nothing--nothing terribly wrong with that. She's seventeen, she should . . . I didn't like it but it's not my place to . . ." He cleared his throat, "Anyways, most people get a thrill out of doing something a little wrong, sneaking off and such. Most people have a moment of guilt, of self-realization, where they know they are acting irresponsibly, where they know they should be doing something else, and then they dismiss it. It adds to the thrill, often it creates the thrill. That's what the amygdale can do. But River, she could dismiss her guilt, slight as I'm sure it was. It took over and she had to find a way to get rid of it. So, she punished herself."
"And you let her?" Gabriel accused.
"No," Simon said. "I told you, she was with a boy, off in the woods. I mean, I wasn't far, within earshot, but I couldn't . . . anyways, I heard her scream and ran to find her. When I did she was in the middle of cutting herself."
"But you didn't stop her," Comworth said. "She said he did. Who's he?"
"He is one of the criminals I'm not going to betray," Simon said flatly. "He did stop her, I . . . I was a little shocked, by her actions. He's . . . he's very good at not being shocked, doing what's right and not hesitating. I would have stopped her, as soon as my emotions caught up to my brain. A few seconds. That probably sounds like an excuse to you, and maybe it is. But, if you think it's hard to look at her arms now, you should have seen them covered in blood, with this sharp bloody rock in her hand . . . and the things she was chanting . . ."
"I'm not a doctor," Comworth said. "Nor an expert on human nature. But, still, what you say sounds as reasonable as any other explanation I've entertained, a great deal more reasonable than most."
"Thank you, sir," Simon said. His voice was hard and official but his eyes spoke the depths of his gratitude.
"We'll find a doctor tomorrow," Gabriel said. "Have a brain scan done. See if your story holds any water."
"Thank you," Simon said again.
"I don't expect to find anything," Gabriel said. "Just so you know."
"As long as you accept what is found, I'll be thrilled," Simon said.
"Finally," Comworth sighed. "Something resembling a civilized understanding."
TUESDAY
Mal was having a bad day. Newhope's warm, summer-like autumn had turned to a cold-rainy autumn over night and the captain couldn't quite convince himself it wasn't an omen. And if that wasn't bad enough, Kaylee stodgily refused to take no for an answer.
"Ain't right," the young mechanic said. They were sitting alone in her parents' kitchen with the gray sky clearly visible through the large windows, weighing down Mal's spirits. "The tour thing was my idea! I got a right ta go and see it through."
"First of," Mal said. "This here's your family, and they miss ya. Don't get to see them but for in a blue moon. Wouldn't be right for me ta take you away."
"You ain't takin' me away," Kaylee insisted. "I wanna go."
"Second off, you got hit pretty bad on the head not two days ago. Don't want you risking . . ."
"Risking what?" Kaylee demanded. "You think a guards just gonna konk me 'cause that's what governor's guards do?"
"I don't appreciate that tone, Little Kaylee," Mal said.
"And I don't appreciate bein' left out like I ain't part of the crew."
"That's not what's happenin'. This has got all the potential of bein' a dangerous mission and you don't go on dangerous missions."
"Preacher's goin'," Kaylee asserted frankly. "And Zoë, though she's pregnant, and Wash."
"Now, Preacher and Zoë are just for recon."
"Then I can be for recon."
"Kaylee," Mal said as firmly as he could. "The answer's no."
"Cap," the girl said, the firmness in his voice totally irrelevant. "I was the one ta be there when they got snatched. I'd kinda like ta be there when they got rescued."
"That's a fair enough request," Mal said. "But I'm still gonna say no."
"I'm goin'," Kaylee said, resolutely. "And 'less you plan on tyin' me up and lockin' me in Serenity's hold . . ."
Her voice trailed off as the kitchen door opened and a drenched Wash and Zoë entered the warm and dry house.
"Fei yi suo si hun luan, hun luan zhi gou ji mao," Wash spat as he shook the water off his black raincoat. "Wasn't it nice yesterday?"
"As I recall," Zoë said as her husband helped her take off her own green and brown camouflaged raincoat.
"Ah, Zoë, Wash!" Mal said, quite relived to have this particular conversation interrupted. "You got them tickets?"
"Yes, sir," the firstmate said, smiling in a way Mal didn't quit understand. But then, the woman was pregnant and that had been known to change dispositions and temperaments, so he pretend he hadn't noticed it.
"Yeah," Wash echoed, he was also smiling more than the situation called for, especially considering his flightsuit had gotten soaked in the torrent outside, but then, he was Wash; Mal knew better than to ask.
"So you see there, Kaylee, tickets ta Du Cheng been bought and paid for."
"How many tickets ya got, Zo?" Kaylee asked, not quite innocently.
"Six," Zoë said, quite innocently. At Mal's scowl her smile, odd as it was, faded, as did her husband's. "What's wrong?" She asked.
"There's only five of us goin', Zoë," Mal said.
"Wait," Wash said, holding up his hands and counting on her fingers. "There's you and Zoë and me. Then Jayne and Book and Kaylee. That's six by my count."
"Kaylee ain't goin'," Mal said. "We discussed it."
"Did we?" Zoë said, staring at her captain with what seemed for all the 'verse like genuine bewilderment.
"I was sure she was commin'," Wash insisted. "What with her bein' there when the Tams got snatched and the tour thing bein' her idea and all."
"Well," Mal grumbled. "We'll just have to return the extra ticket when we go—"
"Ah, can't, sir," Zoë said, the hint of her odd smile returning to her eyes but her voice remained stoic and professional. "No, refunds, sir."
"Oh, ho-oh," Mal laughed bitterly, glancing at Zoë and her weird smile, then at Wash, then at Kaylee. "Is it just me, or am I in the middle of an ambush?"
"Ya don't wanna waste the train fare, do ya, Cap?" Kaylee asked, looking as sweet and childish and innocent as a newborn lamb. "Them tickets ta Du Cheng been bought and paid for."
Mal glared again, from Zoë to Wash to Kaylee. They were all smiling at him, looking eager and hopeful, like children in front of a candy story with shiny silver dollars in their grubby little fists. They knew they were going to get what they wanted. "When's the train leaving?" he asked gruffly.
"9:45," Wash said, smiling at Mal as if this tidbit of information would push the other man over the edge into generosity.
"Well, then," Mal grumbled, "Y'all better be off packin' your bags. We leave for the station in an hour."
"Now, Cap," Kaylee said, taking a step forward. "When you said 'y'all' . . ."
"You, too," Mal said grudgingly.
"Oh!" The girl said with a gasp as she threw herself at Mal, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him adoringly on the cheek. "Thanks Cap'n!"
"Don't you be mentioning it," Mal said, pushing the girl away and trying to stay upset at his crew for their not so subtle manipulations. "Now get."
"Shieh-shieh," the girl giggled. "Quick as a stitch." Then, she pattered off and up the stairs to pack the required over-night bag, leaving Mal alone with Wash and Zoë, who both were now smiling quite normally.
"Oh, this is gonna be a fun trip," Wash said excitedly. "You know, I can't remember the last time I slept in a hotel."
"Oh, yeah," Zoë said with a sigh. "Captain, you think we could find a place with a bath?"
Mal stared at the two lovers, so smugly content with their trick and in their excitement that they didn't even see how very close to going back to plan A (jumping into Serenity, flying over the Governor's villa and forcibly abducting the Tams) he was, just to spite them all. But Mal, who knew a good plan when he saw it, figured it'd probably be good karma to submit to a good plan when it was played out on him. Little Kaylee was so happy, as were Zoë and Wash. He honestly couldn't think of anything worse that could happen than having the three of them (Book too, if Mal knew the preacher) being contrary the whole time.
To be continued . . .