Simon sits at River's bedside, holding her hand until she recovers from the nightmares and falls back asleep.

It's how most of his nights go. Sometimes the medicine stops working; sometimes the new dosage doesn't take; sometimes the terrors are just too strong. He always comes when she screams for him. He wants her to know that he'll always come.

Sometimes, in the silence, he'll admit to himself that there are things he'd rather be doing.

He'll slide the needle into her skin and remember what it's like to have a proper patient in a proper hospital.

He'll kiss her forehead and wonder what it's like to kiss someone else, just once, just for a while.

He'll embrace her and comfort her and wish that there were still people to do it for him, to hold him when he feels like crying.

It doesn't bother him, usually. He doesn't let it bother him. His father taught him to put emotions aside to get the job done, to be restrained and proper no matter the circumstances.

His father wouldn't understand this, of course. He'd ask if Simon doesn't miss a large warm bed and silk covers; if he doesn't long for his own elegant, quiet room.

He'd say that his son isn't made for a rough life, for danger and crudity and uncertainty. That knows Simon would rather be safe, grounded, secure.

Simon would say that his father is absolutely right. He wants to eat real food, to have a real home, to make a true living.

Then he'd say that River is worth it, and he doesn't regret his choice, and he would mean every word.

Tags: just prompts, prompts, river

They were taking him to a psychologist.

The last fight with his father had been the breaking point, apparently; his parents were convinced he needed help. That he was dependent, obsessive, paranoid.

It was easier to simply go along with it. To let them take him to the best clinic on Osiris, to wait in silence until his name was called.

His mother squeezed his hand as he stood; he didn't look at her.

He was led through carpeted hallways decorated with elegant portraits and famous paintings, into a small room with plush chairs. A woman waited there, severe and statuesque; he suspected already that she was in the wrong profession.

"Please, take a seat."

It was no request, but he complied, sitting straight with his hands folded tightly in his lap.

Her own posture was similar, though she held a pad and pen in her hands. She gazed at him as she spoke, her expression inscrutable, almost bored.

"What makes you special, Simon?"

His eyes widened, and she began to write, never looking down. He wondered what 'vague surprise' meant in the text books.

"I'm not special. I'm very smart – "

"And you're surrounded by intellectual inferiors, aren't you? Tell me, who is the most unintelligent person you know?"

He stared at her. What was he supposed to say to that? 'My father'? Was that what she was looking for?

"Too polite for that, aren't you?"

"I do like to be courteous."

"Is that stifling? Have you always held so much anger, Simon?"

Slowly, he shook his head.

"I was quite content before they took my sister away."

She attempted a sympathetic smile.

"You're angry that they separated you. You just want her to come back."

He kept his voice soft, even.

"I want her to be safe."

"So do you parents, Simon. Why don't you trust them? Why do you make it your responsibility?"

Well, you see, I think my parents are too afraid of losing their spotless reputation and grand house if they fight for their daughter.

"I've always protected her."

Her smile was softer, now, a bit more genuine; he suspected she had a younger sibling as well.

"Yet she's smarter than you are, isn't she?"

"Academically, yes."

"Does that bother you?"

"Not really."

Her pen tapped against the paper, a faint, steady rhythm that was driving him mad.

"Do you wish you were sent there instead?"

He couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm the youngest surgeon on Osiris. What else could I possibly want?"

She leaned forward, staring at him intently.

"You're risking all of that, Simon."

"River likes to dance."

Bewilderment furrowed her bow, straightened her back; his smile was faint, distant.

"I'm not very good at it. I know the steps, I can move well enough, but River…"

Slowly, he rose.

"She knows what dancing really is. Because of her, I began to learn as well." He, now, was sympathetic.

"Someone should teach you."

She didn't follow him as he walked away.

Tags: prompts, realm of the muse

SIMON
This isn't fear. This is anger.
MAL
Well, it's kinda hard to tell the one
from the other, face like yours.
SIMON
I imagine if it were fear, my eyes
would be wider.
- Serenity

Simon is a very contained person. His features are schooled to show very little; it's what makes him seem distant, detached. It can be a reason to distrust him, as he's learned. He is very rarely relaxed and open.

He sees emotional outbursts as undignified, and has little idea how to handle them. The exception is his sister, but then she often is. This doesn't mean he cannot, or will not, express them, but they are often restrained.

Simon was raised to be polite, composed, aloof, and took to it easily; it's very much a part of who he is, and he doesn't want to let it go.

When he's irritated, he doesn't tend to yell; his voice doesn't rise, only sharpens as he becomes snappish, sarcastic, caustic.

Fun. Right. I consider this 'fun'. It's 'fun' being forced to the ass-end of the galaxy, get to live on a piece of luh-suh wreck and eat molded protein while playing nursemaid to my boo-tai jung-tzahng-duh sister. 'Fun'.

- Safe

Sometimes, when he's upset, he babbles.

My God, you're like a trained ape! Without the training. No, apes are noble creatures, you're some sort of man-ape-thing that went horribly wrong.

- Jaynestown

When he's angry, his speech is still level; it's not the volume but the tone of contempt in his words that will make you quail, the ruthless truth of them.

SIMON
Your patient should be dead. And you'd be standing here scratching your head as to why.
YOUNG INTERN
I -- I'm... sorry, doctor.
SIMON
Good.
- Ariel
When he's livid, it's a cold fury, chilling clipped words and hard eyes. He remains calm, poised, articulate, but also rigid, dauntless, trenchant.

Agent McGinnis, I'm certain you're working under a superior who's keeping close tabs on this case. I'm certain of that because important people don't usually do field work. I'm also quite certain your superior wants me and my sister alive. Now, I'm not going to move from this spot until one of two things happen: you answer my very simple question, or you shoot me.

- Ariel

Simon's weapon of choice is always his words. He finds violence distasteful, and while he begins to grow accustomed to it, even taking up arms to save his captain, he will only use it as a last resort – with on exception. When that very same man endangered River, Simon punched him in the face.

If you want to see Simon lose control, harm his sister.

You may, of course, not be in any condition to speak of it.

Tags: mun prompt, realm of the muse

"No one should be rich except those who understand it." - Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe.

My father used to quote that. I believe it made him feel…not superior, he took that for granted, but entitled. Knowing that people were starving on the outer planets while we lived in luxury… you didn't need to feel guilty if you believed you deserved what you had and so did they.

I believed it, too.

He'd worked hard for his money, after all, he and my mother both. They were intelligent, diligent, dedicated. My father often talked about pulling himself up from the lower classes, and I always admired him.

Now I know that he doesn't know what it means to be poor.

He doesn't know what it's like, to be clever and honourable and industrious and knowing it isn't enough because of where you were born. To be used and discarded over and over, and standing up to be used again because you must.

To understand wealth, you must understand poverty. My family should not have been rich.

Perhaps, if we weren't, my sister would still be whole.

Tags: father, prompts, realm of the muse, wealth

Simon tends to Zoe as best he can in the small shuttle, working in silence as Wash flies them on and River sits by his side.

As he heals her, they are dying.

The chances of being picked up, he knows, are minuscule. Their oxygen is limited. It's only a matter of time.

He will die on the day he was born – but that's not the worst of it, not really. His gaze falls from Zoe, lands on River, and he wants to sob and wreck and tear.

They went through so much, the two of them, to keep her safe, and now she was going to suffocate because…

Zoe trembles beneath his fingers; it startles him into seeing her again. Pale and lost, one of the strongest people he's ever met. He knows how fragile life is, of course, but the truth now lay too bare to accept.

It seems fitting, still, that she will outlive them. The four of the, and Inara and Jayne and Book and…Kaylee.

He closes his eyes. Lets his hands rest, for the moment, as he says what he never could to the black in his mind.

Kaylee.

I'm sorry. You'll never know how much. We're going to die apart, the same as we lived because I've been too stubborn get close to you.

You're pretty, and you're kind, and you're brilliant when it comes to fixing things – it's something we have in common, I suppose.

You're like no girl I've ever…ever wanted to be with, and I think that's why I want to be with you so much. You're different, and that's odd but it's not bad. I just don't know how to act around you, I don't…

I didn't. I'm never going to see you again, never going to get a chance to finally…

I know you like me, I've known for ages, and I'm sorry for never doing anything about it, I'm sorry for never telling you I felt the same way.

When he opens his eyes River is staring at him; she doesn't speak, so sensible when she wants to be, but he almost thinks she heard him.

He reaches down and their fingers entwine with gentle strength, their gazes locked; neither of them needs to confess love for the other, they never do.

It's enough to make hope swell in his chest, because the despair is becoming unbearable.

They may have lost their makeshift home, their tenuous family, but perhaps they'll live on still, alone once more.

His eyes narrow, slightly, intensity darkening his eyes as his thoughts brush her mind.

Alliance. Hunters. Reavers.

I don't care who you are. I don't care what resources you have. I don't what depths you've sunk too.

You will not have her. You'll need to go through me first, and you won't. I don't care if I need to break my oath to do it, I'll protect her from every last predator the universe holds.

A soft smile curves her lips, and she rises to kiss his forehead. Then she dips her head, and whispers in her ear.

"She's going to wake up now. We're going home."

Tags: kaylee, prompts, realm of the muse, river