Chapter 21: In which there is an abundance of comings and goings
"You're in every one of my happiest memories," Simon told his godfather, taking a step closer to the old man once Mal and River were safely in the shuttle. "I thought you were perfect, that everything good and noble about humanity could be found in you. And I want to say I'm sorry."
"For idolizing me?" Comeworth said, somewhat surprised.
"For doubting that was true," Simon corrected. "What you're doing today . . . letting us go . . ."
"Simon," Comworth said, reaching out and putting his hand on the boy's moist cheek. "I do love you. And you're parents, they love you as well."
"I know," Simon said softly.
"I told River she'd be in my prayers. You know you will be as well, twice as often."
"Thank you."
"I'm very proud of you," Comworth said, pulling the boy into a loving hug. Simon squeezed his eyes shut and tried to find some comfort in this last embrace, but all he could feel was the pain of loss.
"Here," Comworth said after they'd pulled away. His voice cracked and there were tears in his eyes as well. "I want you to have this." He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a small tin box almost exactly like the one in the top drawer of Comworth's desk, only newer, without any fond dents of memory.
"Peppermints?" Simon asked, laughing and crying with the same breath.
"A few," the old man said. "But there are other things, things I want you to have. Things I always meant to give to you. Truthfully, I'm glad I got this chance."
"I'm sorry," Simon said earnestly, taking the box.
"Nothing that's happened is your fault," Comworth said. "Not one man in a thousand would have acted as nobly as you."
Simon smiled through his tears. "Thank you . . . for . . . for everything."
"It was all my pleasure," Comworth said, his voice catching. "But now it's time for goodbye."
"Yes," Simon breathed, nodding. He didn't dare hug his godfather again, or even shake his hand. Instead, he nodded respectfully. "Goodbye, sir."
"Goodbye, Simon," The governor said, matching the doctor in detachment. It should have made it easier. It didn't.
The second Simon was fully in the shuttle Mal closed the door and locked it. "All aboard, Wash," he yelled to the pilot in the cockpit. "Take off!"
The small shuttle lurched as it rose. The few extra pounds of gravity overwhelmed Simon and he felt his knees give way. He plopped down on the Companion's bed, and managed to keep himself to a sitting position. Any other day, he would have worried that Mal or Jayne had recognized his weakness for what it was, but his head reeled and all he could think of was that his life was over.
He knew it wasn't, of course. He knew that whatever life he would have lived if he'd stayed with his parents would have been a life of imprisonment and pain. On Serenity, he could live. He could help River, he could flirt with Kaylee, he could learn from Mal, he could do and see and experience more than he'd ever imagined growing up in the prim aristocracy of the Core. His life had become an adventure, Simon realized, exciting and heroic. But presently, that felt like little more than a small bandage for the gapping chest wound he'd suffered.
Simon took a deep determined breath and exhaled it evenly. He couldn't be crippled by his emotions; there were more important things to worry about.
"Where's Kaylee?" he asked. His voice sounded weak and scratchy, even to him.
"On a train back to Sweet Well," Mal said. "Should a left about twenty minutes ago."
"Good," Simon said, nodding.
A quiet grew in the shuttle; the only sound was the engine noise.
"So," Mal finally said, trying to smile cheerily at the doctor. "What's in that box?"
"What?" Simon asked, his mind had been far away, on a train with Kaylee.
"That box there," Mal said, nodding at the tin object Simon had forgotten he was holding. "What's in it?"
"Ah," Simon said uncertainly. "I'm not sure."
"You gonna open it?" Jayne asked.
Simon looked down at the box, seeing his reflection in its smooth surface. "Not yet," he said softly.
"Why not?" Jayne asked.
"Because," Mal said, a good amount of venom in his voice.
"How long until we reach Serenity?" Simon asked to change the subject.
"'Bout half an hour," Wash called from the cockpit. "Assuming we don't run into any torrential rain storms."
"Yeah," Mal muttered, pushing himself off the couches he'd been sitting on and walking across the room to the cockpit to look over Wash's shoulder. "Considering the weather these past few days that's expecting a lot."
"It won't rain," River said softly.
Simon had almost forgotten that his sister way lying behind him, crying. He was stung by a sudden sharp guilt that, discouragingly, was a relief from the pressing grief. He quickly turned around and stroked his pretty sister's hair comfortingly. "How you doin', Mei mei?"
"The rain will come at night," she said. She wasn't crying, as he'd thought she was, but was curled up in a very tight ball, her hands inches away from her face, playing with the emerald ring between her forefingers and thumbs. "You think its cold now, wait till the darkness."
"You didn't answer my question," Simon said, still stroking her hair softly. He wondered if the action was as comforting for her as it was to him.
"I don't want to think about me," she said. "Then I'll start to rain."
* * *
Kaylee was the first to get off the train. She looked adorable, Mal thought, in her bright yellow raincoat and oversized overalls cuffed half way up her calves. Ridiculous, but adorable.
"Hey!" she said, throwing herself at Mal. "You're back!"
"What, you think we'd get caught?" Mal said, hugging the young mechanic warmly.
"Not for a minute," Book assured the captain as he stepped off the train.
"Just 'cause you do somethin' Little Kaylee, don't mean that everybody's gotta do it," Mal said, letting the girl out of the hug.
"You teasing me?" she laughed joyously. Part of that joy might have come from the fact that she was still close enough to dig her elbow into his side for an affectionate rebuke.
"There's my sweet butter ball," Wash said, rushing forward to help Zoë down the short and unimposing steps off the train.
"I am in no way, shape or form, a butter ball," Zoë said, too relieved by her captain's and husband's presence to be properly upset.
"That's subject to change," Wash said with a little giggle, brushing his face so close to Zoë's that their noses touched. The first mate broke into a peal of laughter and kissed her husband on the tip of his nose, which only made Wash laugh harder.
"Ok, ok," Mal said, trying not to sound as giddy as he was. "They'll be plenty of time for that later. We got us a party to go to."
"Party?" Kaylee asked eagerly.
"Yeah," Mal said, his sternness slipping into a smile. "Your parents seem predisposed to celebrate every little thing."
"So, ah," the girl said, her eyes darting up and down the platform. "Simon and River'll be there?"
"Jayne, too, if you care," Mal said, giving his mechanic a teasing nudge with his elbow.
"'Course I care," Kaylee said incredulously. "It's just . . ."
"I know," Mal laughed. "Come on, there's a party waiting for us."
* * *
"This is simply unacceptable," Inara said. She hoped she looked furious, not worried to death. "I didn't send out a work order. Why didn't anyone contact me?"
"The paperwork seemed in order," the sergeant said humbly
"And you seem incompetent," Inara said, lacing her voice with disgust. "I demand to speak to your commander."
"I am the commander in charge of this—"
"Than I demand to speak to the governor," Inara clipped. "Immediately."
"Yes, ma'am," the sergeant said, bowing and retreating.
Inara waited for what seemed like an eternity. It was, in reality, only a few minutes, but the very demeanor of the whole villa was such that time seemed to have slowed to a painfully languid pace.
Of course, the whole morning had seemed to crawl by for the anxious companion. She glanced continuously at the clock as Genie did her lessons. 1000: the tour had started the horrible waiting. 1045: Mal and Jayne separate from the group, past the point of no return. 1105: Zoë was meeting Kaylee and Book, all aid out of reach. 1125: the three non-combatants boarded a train for Sweet Well, the end of the timeline Inara could follow. From 1125 until just before noon Inara was torn apart by worry. Genie noticed it and had the very good taste to mention it only once, and drop the subject when Inara made it abundantly clear her nervousness was not a valid topic for discussion.
Still, the hardest part of the whole ordeal was when a guard came in to inform her that her shuttle had been stolen. She was instantly filled with joy, so relived that she felt she would burst into tears, and she had to pretend to be shocked, horrified, and furious. A good Companion is always perfectly in control of her emotions, and Inara was a very good companion, but those first fifteen seconds were high on her list from the hardest seconds of her life.
She paced as she waited, there was nothing better to do. Genie's classes had been canceled, again, which wasn't so bad. There was little more Inara could teach the girl. She'd really already known all the rules of polite society, she'd just never bothered to follow them. And as soon as the girl was surrounded by high society she would undoubtedly pick up the more subtle habits and mannerisms. With that in mind, Inara decided she'd offer to reimburse the Governor for the two days classes had been interrupted by the Tam's drama and hurry to Sweet Well. She didn't want to keep up this charade any longer than absolutely necessary.
"Ms. Serra," Comworth's kind yet authoritative voice said from behind her.
Inara swiveled and looked at the Governor with a cold and hard grace, "Would you mind explaining to me what happened to my shuttle?"
"No," Comworth said, stepping properly into the room and walking over to the small table near the window where Genie and Inara had been working. Inara followed him uncertainly, there was something on his mind, and she didn't think it was grief or guilt over her lost shuttle, nor even over Simon and River. He, like she, was very carefully controlling his emotions.
"Well?" Inara demanded, truthfully exasperated.
"It was taken," Comworth said, turning to her.
"I
gathered that," Inara snapped. "How?"
"By thieves," the governor
said.
Inara smiled at him bitterly, "Sir, may I ask how a pack of common thieves with forged papers got past your well trained, well-paid guards?"
"I never said common thieves," Comworth said, picking up a sheet of haikus Genie had been working on:
"The joy of her here
Gets lost when I see her eyes
Which can not see joy"
He read aloud. "I take it this is about River."
"I had her write them mostly to practice her calligraphy," Inara said, forcing herself to stay mad. "Now, about my shuttle?"
"It's gone, I'm afraid," Comworth sighed. "Absolutely nothing I can do."
Outwardly, Inara sighed in disgust. Inwardly, her heart soared at the realization that the governor wasn't going to dedicate all his resources to getting the shuttle back. It occurred to her that, maybe, she suggest he ought to, that's what any person in such a situation would do, but she didn't want to give him any ideas.
"Well," She spat, figuring a quick change of subject would make her obvious flub a little less obvious. "I can't stay here any longer."
"You don't feel safe?" Comworth asked, he sounded almost amused.
"Let's just say I don't feel very lady-like," Inara spat. "It won't make a difference if I leave a few hours early. Genie knows everything; it's just a matter of practice. She can practice just fine without me."
"Yes, she and River could practice together," Comworth said flatly.
Inara, for all her training and emotional control, couldn't keep herself from going pale.
"That is," the governor continued, drawing his voice out, clearly meaning to make her wait. "If River hadn't gone today."
Again, Inara felt relief wash over her, and again she had to force herself not to show it. "Did the Tams leave?" Inara said, trying to fill her voice with detached curiosity. "I would have liked to say goodbye."
"Ms. Serra," Comworth sighed. "Please. I wanted to see how far you would take this game. Clearly you'll take it to the very end. Let's stop playing."
That was a very discouraging thing to hear. Still, Inara pressed on. "What do you mean, game?" she spat. "My shuttle was just stolen and –"
"Your shuttle wasn't stolen," Comworth said, his patience clearly growing thin.
"What do you mean?" She asked cagily. "The guard just said . . ."
"The shuttle isn't, technically, yours, is it?" Comworth asked pointedly.
"Fine, so the shuttle I rent was stolen."
"From whom do you rent it?"
"The captain," Inara clipped, terrified of where this conversation was going. "I don't see what this has to do . . ."
"If I'm going to reimburses you for the shuttle, I should know to whom I ought send the money."
That sounded so reasonable. Inara swallowed hard and tried to sound just as reasonable. "I'm sorry, I'm just a little upset. The man's name is Malcolm Reynolds. Although, if you want to reimburse him you'll have to give me the cash. He doesn't trust banks."
"A little paranoid?"
"Only when it comes to . . . well, yes, I suppose he is."
"He may be paranoid," Comworth sighed. "But no one could call him cowardly or fearful."
"That's true," Inara said very slowly. "But how . . ."
"I just met him," the governor confessed. "In fact, he just stole Simon and River, if not the shuttle."
"He deng ge e mo e meng" Inara muttered, sinking into one of the table's straight backed wooden chairs.
"No," Comworth said, sitting down in the other chair and leaning forward so he could talk to her intimately. "No, I let them go."
"What?" Inara said, truly shocked.
"River was tortured," he said, choking out each word. "And Simon acted notably and courageously to save her, only to have his own life ruined. How could I turn them back to the monsters that destroyed them in the first place? I love those children."
There was no question in her mind that the governor was being sincere. Inara let her relief at hear the shuttle was stolen and the Tams were gone peal out of her in a laugh that was half a sob. But her emotional catharsis was only allowed a second, she took a deep breath and turned to the governor smiling. "You are also a noble and courageous man," Inara said, reaching out and squeezing the governor's hand.
"I'd be slightly more comforted by that observation if you weren't presently in my employ," Comworth said, forcing himself to laugh.
Inara smiled at him charmingly. "I quit a minute ago, don't you remember?"
He laughed again, and smiled. "Well, then, I suppose matters should be settled between us and you should find a way back to your ship. I think it might be best if you take public transportation. If one of my gaurds would just happen to see Simon or River near your ship . . ."
"Of course," Inara said. "I actually enjoy train rides. I haven't had a chance to take one for quite some time."
"Well then, it's settled," Comworth said. "I'll arrange for the tickets."
"That's very kind of you," Inara said. "If you'd be so kind as to show me an accessible Cortex screen I'll reimburse you for the days –"
"Nonsense," Comworth said. "You've done a wonderful job. Genie is quite the lady, now, when she chooses to be. Besides, I'm not so sure I want to send her to the Core anymore. I couldn't for a while, at least."
"You've lost a lot in your life," Inara observed.
"Simon and River are not lost," Comworth said with a deep breath. "Just . . . just hidden."
"Does it help, thinking of it like that?"
"I don't know," Comworth said. "I think over time, it probably will."
He smiled at Inara, kindly and sadly. Inara smiled back.
* * *
"Hey you," Kaylee's soft, kind voice said just behind Simon. He didn't turn his head, but continued to stare off into the Frye's large back yard. It was gray and dull and suited his mood far better than the joyous party going on inside the house behind him. "Ain't cha cold?" the girl asked, sitting herself down next to him on the old uneven steps between the kitchen door and the yard.
Simon didn't really want to answer the question, but neither did he want to be rude to Kaylee. "I don't mind," he said. His voice was soft and hoarse.
"Humm," the girl said softly, reaching out and taking his right hand in both of hers. "Your hand's like ice," she said, her voice laced with concern.
"Maybe I should have said I don't care," Simon said.
"Can't imagine that," she said, scooting closer to him and wrapping herself around his right arm, which was suddenly pleasantly warm. "You always care. You're caring."
Simon chuckled bitterly. "Then I think I've earned a break."
Kaylee leaned her head on his shoulder, spreading her warmth. "It's nice and cool out here," she said conversationally. "It's all hot and stuffy inside. Loud, too. Every time Zoë opened a present the whole room gasped, like they ain't never seen baby stuff before. I mean, I guess maybe some of them ain't – men don't usually go ta showers, but, I guess you know that."
Simon didn't answer. The fact was that this was the first baby shower he'd ever been invited to. He felt a little guilty missing it but the few seconds he'd forced himself to be surrounded by over a dozen bright, happy people it felt like someone was taking a hot poker to his heart. He couldn't stand it. If he hadn't run out to the cool quiet of the Frye's back yard he probably would have burst into tears or screamed or done something infinitely more rude and disruptive than not attending.
"She did like your present though," Kaylee said encouragingly. "Didn't really understand it but figured if ya gave it ta her she must need it."
"B-12 supplements are necessary for the development of a fetus's brain," Simon rattled off, turning to look at Kaylee for the first time since the girl had come out to see him. Her eyes were so dark and deep, he felt like he could fall into them, and he wanted to. "I," he stuttered, coming to himself after a minute, "I didn't know what to give her."
Kaylee smiled up at him, "She liked it, really."
Simon felt himself smile a little at the pretty girl. He highly doubted Zoë had really liked a bottle of pills, but it was so kind of Kaylee to say.
"Course," Kaylee continued, smiling up at the doctor. "Her favorite gift was that doll River made."
"That must have made River happy," Simon said. He was starting to get cold and his teeth were threatening to chatter. He hadn't felt the least bit chilled until Kaylee had come out and made part of him warm.
"She spat out a poem, then and there," Kaylee said. "I . . . I think maybe bein' reminded of the baby, havin' this shower, made the day a little easier for her. Redeemed it, ya know?"
"Probably," Simon said, sucking a deep breath in through his teeth. "Where is River?"
"Stole away somewhere with Jack," Kaylee said. "Probably in an out of the way room upstairs. They've been told not ta leave the house and, after what happened at our last little outing, I got no doubt they'll stick close."
"I'm sorry," Simon said, turning back to look at her.
"'Bout what?"
"Our last little outing."
Kaylee smiled at him and squeezed his ice cold hand. "I know."
Simon stared at her a moment then closed his eyes and turned away. "So," he said crisply. "My beautiful, emotionally disturbed, seventeen-year-old sister is alone in a bedroom with a handsome, charming boy the same age."
"Come on, now," Kaylee urged with a chuckle in her voice. She was rubbing her right hand up and down his arm affectionately, sending delightful shivers through his body each time. "What's the worse that could happen?"
"Humm, interesting question," Simon said, not quite playfully. "I suppose the worse that could happen would be them having sex."
"Simon," Kaylee scolded. She stopped stroking his arm, but didn't let go of his hand.
"Well, they could," the boy said dryly. His eyes were fixed on the edge of the gray wood beyond the gray yard. "If she cuts herself after kissing than the catharsis after intercourse should be something to look forward to."
"Simon," Kaylee tried again, to no greater avail.
"No," the doctor said, tumbling headlong into his own dark sarcasm. "This, this is a game I should play more often. How bad could River's life get? How could it get worse?"
"What'd she say if she heard you," Kaylee snapped, sitting up, but not letting go of his hand.
"She'd join in," Simon answered confidently. "Oh, you know what, she could get pregnant," he said with an edgy laugh. "That would be fun. She and Zoë could have two little babies, same age. Like Paul and Virginia, 'cause that story had a happy ending."
"Simon, stop it!" Kaylee demanded, pulling her hand out of his. "What are you talkin' about?"
Simon turned to look at her, left cold by her physical retreat. She was mad and upset with her usually wide, brown eyes narrowed into fuming slits and her perpetually smiling mouth pressed into an almost alien scowl. Suddenly his cruel musings seemed distinctly unpalatable; he swallowed hard to get the bitter taste out of his mouth.
When he answered her, his voice was soft and tentative, almost apologetic. "They – they were lovers." He told her, staring into her eyes. "From this old French novel. They, they grew up together, constantly professing their love which was, in a way, incestuous, but if you can get past that to the, well, melodrama . . ."
Kaylee laughed forgivingly and slipped her hand back in his, wrapped her arm around his, and rested her chin once again on his shoulder. "Didn't like it, huh?"
"I didn't see why we couldn't read something fun, like 2000 Leagues Under the Sea, or Notre Dame du Paris."
"Ya said it didn't end well," Kaylee said. "How's it end?"
"She's sent away," Simon said, reaching up and brushing a wisps of hair out of the girl's eyes. In his mind's eye, he could see her as she was only yesterday, although it seemed like a lifetime ago and a world away, standing in his godfather's office, small and frightened yet bold and lovely in her bright yellow raincoat and denim jumper. "She swears that she'll return to him, and for years he waits, burning with love."
Kaylee giggled again; she was a sucker for romance.
Simon couldn't help but smile as he finished the story, although he felt it was somewhat unbefitting of the narrative. "Finally she comes back but they lived on this little tropical island, you see, and the boat, one of those big old wooden boats they had during the colonial period of Earth-that-was . . ."
"Yeah," Kaylee urged, far more interested in the romance than the setting.
"It couldn't dock because there was a hurricane coming. So Paul and this old man, the narrator of the story, they go about half way around the island to see the ship and they do. Virginia's on the deck and she sees Paul and waves at him and he's so consumed by his love that he jumps in the water and starts swimming after her. At least, I think he swims, maybe he had a canoe or . . ."
"And" the girl prompted.
"And the hurricane comes," he said, managing to keep a sober face, even if she was squeezing his arm a little too tight in the most adorable way. "Paul is dashed against the side of the boat. Virginia is thrown off it."
Kaylee gasped. "Did they . . ."
"The old man found Virginia dead on the beach. Paul was alive."
"Oh," she whimpered. She was so wrapped up in the story that she was squeezing his hand almost painfully. He reveled in it.
Still, he managed to finish his story with the proper mournful tone. "But he died, two months later, I think, of a broken heart. And their mothers, who were very good friends, of course, both had the same dream of Paul and Virginia as children playing in a beautiful, tropical garden."
"Oh," Kaylee said again, disentangling one arm so she could wipe away the tears streaming down her face.
It was a sweet moment, a tender moment, and Simon could feel himself being pulled towards the girl. He knew he was going to kiss her because the part of him he considered his 'better judgment;' the part that told him not to, that told him he shouldn't take that step, that told him there wasn't enough of him to go around, had been worn out by the days traumas. All he could think of was how warm Kaylee was, how soft, how inviting. "Kaylee," he said, drawing her attention, turning him towards her, as he leaned forward, his intentions clear.
And at that moment, the hardest, meanest and most intrusive voice Simon had ever heard demaned, "What's goin' on?"
To be continued . . .