(Untitled)

[aj_crawley]

 
The attack hasn't hit the feeds yet; it won't until tonight. But news travels fast, when you're the kind of person that pays it to, and even faster when it's close to home.

Metaphorically speaking.

The red light is flashing on Simon's commbox - three short, three long, three short.

Someone's hoping the doctor is on call.

Comments

[simon_doctor]

Silence.

Silence.

"--Yes?" His gaze focuses. "Crowley?"

[aj_crawley]

Simon's seen his usual pallor, seen him pale and in pain, wan with relief, seen him grey with tiredness.

This isn't like any of those.

"Where are you?"

[simon_doctor]

It isn't like any of those; and it wakes him up faster than he would have expected.

"I'm on Serenity. What's happened?"

[aj_crawley]

"No - the ship. Where's the - ?"

Behind him, well-dressed people are trotting across the screen too fast for their suits and heels. Many are in their coats; one or two have bags. All of them have armfuls of paper.

"Reavers," he says. "Amesbury, on Lilac."

Someone - an anonymous pair of hands, well-trimmed nails and a wedding band - passes him a scarf, and then a briefcase. He takes them without looking; the hinges of the briefcase clatter against the dekstop.

"They need doctors."