Down that Path
Thanks to the people who chat for answering a few questions about certain things. Also yay for my Simon muse shutting up after writing this though I suspect he'll be back later to babble at me some more.
Down that path
He stared into the mirror, noting his widened eyes and dazed look with a certain clinical detachment. He saw and didn’t see the specks of blood dotting the right side of his face. He looked down and saw his hands turned a dark red by the shadows in his room. His fathers’ favorite wine had been the same color. He’d used some to toast Simon the day he graduated from Medacad.
The water in the sink turned into red shimmering waves and with each silent swish his hands returned to their pale shade of white. It looked so simple but when he took his hands out he could still see blood buried in the creases and rooted down in his nails.
Simon was a doctor, his hands had been red before or actually his gloves had taken the brunt of it but still, blood on his hands wasn’t new and should not leave him feeling like this. He remembers how the woman looked. Fierce and angry, a glint of madness in her eye, spittle flying, as she made her accusations and demands. Zoe and Mal too far away, Jayne nowhere to be seen, just her and him and Wash lying between them, a puddle of blood beneath him.
He’d tried to talk; he was used to talking to crazy people, right? But this was different from River, strange and too much unknown. Booby traps lay in every word he spoke, then the flash of metal, and the jagged edge of another knife. He didn’t even remember pulling the gun, or hear it go off but he’d seen the hole in her shoulder, the look in her eyes one of total shock like he’d yelled surprise and pulled out a present for her from behind his back.
He’d moved closer not sure he could shoot her again but determined not to let Wash receive another knife wound. Then he’d fallen, a kick to his knee even now busy pounding sluggish messages to his brain. Then she was there, on top of him, yelling about demons and cleansing and his soul and he could understand the scripture she quoted but not the utter malevolence imprinted on her face.
A different kind of crazy he thought and then the tug of war game he’d won, her own knife in her stomach, and he didn’t regret pulling it upward, feeling the body on top of his tear and split apart. He’d felt heavy and tired and then Zoe had appeared and pushed the woman off of him before going to Wash. Simon had looked in the dead woman’s eyes, eyes that were already clouding over and there was so much blood he couldn’t keep track of it.
He’d wondered for a moment if River could have told him exactly how much was now on the ground and on him instead of in the woman. Back on the ship and no clue how they’d gotten there but the question was quickly dismissed. The cuts to Wash had been less severe than they looked and he’d nodded and walked away after seeing the need in Zoe’s eyes to take care of her husband.
Hands touched his waist, gliding up his back and he’d forgotten he was shirtless, actually he’d forgotten he wasn’t wearing anything. He was silent as the hands helped wash the blood off the rest of his body. Simon guessed he’d gotten so focused on his hands that he’d forgotten the rest. He did manage to put his clothes on by himself and he shrugged the hands away that wanted him to rest. That was the last thing he wanted. He knew she was waiting for him and he suspected he’d see her for a very long time.
But Mal held on and when he stopped struggling and started crying the hands still held him.
Down that path
He stared into the mirror, noting his widened eyes and dazed look with a certain clinical detachment. He saw and didn’t see the specks of blood dotting the right side of his face. He looked down and saw his hands turned a dark red by the shadows in his room. His fathers’ favorite wine had been the same color. He’d used some to toast Simon the day he graduated from Medacad.
The water in the sink turned into red shimmering waves and with each silent swish his hands returned to their pale shade of white. It looked so simple but when he took his hands out he could still see blood buried in the creases and rooted down in his nails.
Simon was a doctor, his hands had been red before or actually his gloves had taken the brunt of it but still, blood on his hands wasn’t new and should not leave him feeling like this. He remembers how the woman looked. Fierce and angry, a glint of madness in her eye, spittle flying, as she made her accusations and demands. Zoe and Mal too far away, Jayne nowhere to be seen, just her and him and Wash lying between them, a puddle of blood beneath him.
He’d tried to talk; he was used to talking to crazy people, right? But this was different from River, strange and too much unknown. Booby traps lay in every word he spoke, then the flash of metal, and the jagged edge of another knife. He didn’t even remember pulling the gun, or hear it go off but he’d seen the hole in her shoulder, the look in her eyes one of total shock like he’d yelled surprise and pulled out a present for her from behind his back.
He’d moved closer not sure he could shoot her again but determined not to let Wash receive another knife wound. Then he’d fallen, a kick to his knee even now busy pounding sluggish messages to his brain. Then she was there, on top of him, yelling about demons and cleansing and his soul and he could understand the scripture she quoted but not the utter malevolence imprinted on her face.
A different kind of crazy he thought and then the tug of war game he’d won, her own knife in her stomach, and he didn’t regret pulling it upward, feeling the body on top of his tear and split apart. He’d felt heavy and tired and then Zoe had appeared and pushed the woman off of him before going to Wash. Simon had looked in the dead woman’s eyes, eyes that were already clouding over and there was so much blood he couldn’t keep track of it.
He’d wondered for a moment if River could have told him exactly how much was now on the ground and on him instead of in the woman. Back on the ship and no clue how they’d gotten there but the question was quickly dismissed. The cuts to Wash had been less severe than they looked and he’d nodded and walked away after seeing the need in Zoe’s eyes to take care of her husband.
Hands touched his waist, gliding up his back and he’d forgotten he was shirtless, actually he’d forgotten he wasn’t wearing anything. He was silent as the hands helped wash the blood off the rest of his body. Simon guessed he’d gotten so focused on his hands that he’d forgotten the rest. He did manage to put his clothes on by himself and he shrugged the hands away that wanted him to rest. That was the last thing he wanted. He knew she was waiting for him and he suspected he’d see her for a very long time.
But Mal held on and when he stopped struggling and started crying the hands still held him.