(Untitled)

[simon_doctor]

[From here.]

It's the old room, the instinctive first-last refuge in this place.

He closes the door quietly behind them, and makes a move to help Kaylee off with her jacket.

Comments

[gonna_live]

She lets him, holding her arms straight down.

Without much feeling: "You might want to get your bag. Knowin' you."

[simon_doctor]

Bruises all up and down both arms; cuts both shallow and deep. Bits of surgical stitches showing beneath the edge of the tank top, on her back, below the neck bandage. Ridges under the fabric suggesting more.

The only audible reaction is a slow deep inhalation -- deliberately slow, deliberately deep, very carefully not a gasp.

"I think you're right," he says, low.

His hand comes up as though to rest on her shoulder or back, changes its mind halfway there, and reaches for her hand instead. "Come sit down?"

[gonna_live]

She doesn't have to worry about how they're treating Rose, what they're doing to her. Eddie Toren thinks he has that well in hand.

Kaylee can afford to be tractable, now.

Without speaking, she turns and follows; her grip on his hand isn't tight, but it's solid.

[simon_doctor]

One advantage to the round couch in the center of the room: it's easy enough to sit on it without leaning one's back against anything.

Simon gets her settled, then turns toward the door. Or rather, behind the door; there's a hook to hang her jacket on, and there's the spare medkit.

He seats himself facing her first, instead of behind her; sets the case flat on his lap and opens it.