open RP: the unpopcorning of Simon Tam
Aug. 18th, 2008 10:58 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
superfraternal.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
hh_mirrorThere were a few things about Simon Tam that other people probably didn't get -- other people, with the exception of his sister, who was always an exception to every rule. (Being an exception to every rule only cemented her conviction that rules were made to be broken, Simon suspected; and he wasn't exactly fighting that, was he? Now he was breaking all the rules too. For her.)
First off: He loved his sister. That much was probably obvious. But he didn't love her that way. He could perfectly well live without her, even. That wasn't self-delusion, that was plain fact. He'd gone to university, he'd gone to medical school, he'd worked; he'd had a life of his own, separate from River.
If he had not built a life of his own, it would have been no sacrifice at all when he gave it all up to rescue her. It would have been much easier. She wouldn't have anything to feel guilty about. But the fact was, he had built a life, the way he always expected he would, the way he was supposed to do, and it had made him happy. He'd been happy on Osiris. He'd been happy in Capital City. He had a rewarding career and some colleagues who were pretty good friends, and he kept in touch with his old buddies from med school, and sure, he hadn't exactly gotten engaged yet, but he planned on having a house and a family sometime within the next ten years definitely.
He had given up a lot, and River did feel guilty about it, though he wished she wouldn't. He would always remember with sadness the night in that godforsaken hillbilly settlement when River said to him: I made you be here. I remember everything. Offering him berries she'd gathered, touchingly resolute, I wanted you to have berries. Because they're good. And they're sweet. And you make me better. A small bit of sweetness, all she could gather, all she could find. A token to stand in for all the sweetness now beyond his reach.
The berries weren't the real gift, though, as far as he was concerned. It was that moment of lucidity, of her understanding. Understanding was hard to come by.
That was another thing. Simon understood it was really not all too healthy, the way he was living these days. Packed onto a spaceship with a bunch of smugglers -- yes, they were nice smugglers, and they'd come through for Simon when he needed them, he wasn't disputing that! Nor would he say he'd have it any other way, under the circumstances. It was the best the Tams could hope for -- no, even better than he could've hoped -- because they couldn't afford to settle down on some backwater planet, sitting ducks for the Alliance (two by two, hands of blue, and he always shivered when he remembered that). Still. The fact remained that this situation, this life on Serenity, was unstable. What River needed was stability and peace. She needed serenity with a lower-case s. She needed someplace she could really recuperate.
On Earth-That-Was, for people with tuberculosis there had been sanatoriums. Seaside resorts, oases of healing air. For rich people with tuberculosis, all right, no disputing that either. That was the kind of place River needed. Her limbic system had been stripped. Simon didn't think he could really get anyone without medical training to understand how utterly gorram excruciating that had to be for River. She couldn't not feel everything, couldn't not read everything. Here she was in a floating capsule full of tension, everyone living in one another's pockets, everyone always worrying about a heist, or unhappy about one another's behavior, or seething with unresolved desire (ahem, captain and Inara, even socially-inept Simon can tell you want in one another's pants). Not ideal for convalescence, given River's condition.
More, Simon understood the present living arrangements were unhealthy for him personally. Once he'd had a life. Now River was his life, and that wasn't good for either of them. He lived in constant agonizing hope. Every sign of improvement made his heart leap; every sign of deterioration was like a horse had kicked him in the stomach. Because once she got better, all this could be over, or at least could change. Once she got better, well enough to hide ... then maybe they could go to ground.
(Maybe that was self-delusion, that bit there. Maybe they'd never be able to settle, with the Alliance after them. Simon had to believe that one day they could. His frayed nerves needed that.)
And he knew River could read him, every time. Could there be any pressure worse than that for her, knowing that so much for him rode on her recovery, when she herself was powerless to force recovery? He knew it had to be a species of torture for her too. Indeed, he suspected it might be detrimental to her health. He feared she'd push herself too far for his sake. She'd always been an overachiever to the nth degree, after all. She'd never known failure. The Academy had taught her despair, but it had not broken her spirit. Hence Simon's hope; hence Simon's anxiety. She'd work hard to get better, maybe too hard, and maybe she wouldn't be able to compensate for the effort.
Living like this was being like a hamster in a wheel. Every day was the same round of worry and fear and hope and worry. Every day was pain. It didn't help that he couldn't fit in with the people on Serenity. They gave him more acceptance than he had any right to expect, yet he couldn't remake himself into a person who'd know how to read them. If he had a dime for every time he put his foot in his mouth ... The things he'd said to Kaylee alone made him blush, and not in a good way. Every other girl I know is either married, professional, or closely related to me, so you are more or less literally the only girl in the world. He'd meant it as a joke! A ... a way to diffuse the tension between them, that captain-and-Inara kind of tension. Something he didn't want River picking up on either, for that matter. He watched Kaylee's face turn hard and he understood he'd said something seriously wrong, and yes, he understood why, but it was too late then. And he was always saying things like that.
Thought experiment: buddy from med school somehow becomes accessible through a closed channel, safe from Alliance, a clear channel of communication for Simon to talk about stuff like this. What would buddy say? Well, Simon, they're neurotypicals. What can you expect? But that wasn't the right way to approach the problem either. Elitism had its comforts, but pernicious ones. Mal Reynolds wasn't stupid. Kaylee Frye wasn't stupid. The barrier between himself and their understanding wasn't one of intellect. It was ... a cultural difference, all right. A socioeconomic difference. He was a fish out of water -- no -- he was a koi tossed into a stream of salmon. He'd experienced more self-doubt since boarding Serenity than he'd felt in his entire life up until that point.
He was a very, very capable man. A very competent man. A man with specialized skills. He just hadn't been born and raised to the kind of necessity these people lived with. That was all.
Now he was learning about necessity. River was teaching him. The Alliance was teaching him. Every day was a pop quiz. He'd always tested well under pressure. It was just ... tiring.
This was the Simon Tam who'd gone to sleep one night (was it night? In the black, it was always night) in his bunk on Serenity. This was the Simon Tam who woke up, still in the middle of that timeless night, still in his pajamas (soft grey trousers, no shirt).
Only he was sitting on the floor now, and it wasn't the same floor. It was a stone floor.
Also, he was covered in something slick. Oil? He reached up to feel his head, to make sure he wasn't bleeding from the scalp or anything, half-expecting to find some kind of cranial trauma. His hair was clotted with the grease, sticking up in clumps. It didn't smell like engine grease.
It smelled ... like ... popcorn?
First off: He loved his sister. That much was probably obvious. But he didn't love her that way. He could perfectly well live without her, even. That wasn't self-delusion, that was plain fact. He'd gone to university, he'd gone to medical school, he'd worked; he'd had a life of his own, separate from River.
If he had not built a life of his own, it would have been no sacrifice at all when he gave it all up to rescue her. It would have been much easier. She wouldn't have anything to feel guilty about. But the fact was, he had built a life, the way he always expected he would, the way he was supposed to do, and it had made him happy. He'd been happy on Osiris. He'd been happy in Capital City. He had a rewarding career and some colleagues who were pretty good friends, and he kept in touch with his old buddies from med school, and sure, he hadn't exactly gotten engaged yet, but he planned on having a house and a family sometime within the next ten years definitely.
He had given up a lot, and River did feel guilty about it, though he wished she wouldn't. He would always remember with sadness the night in that godforsaken hillbilly settlement when River said to him: I made you be here. I remember everything. Offering him berries she'd gathered, touchingly resolute, I wanted you to have berries. Because they're good. And they're sweet. And you make me better. A small bit of sweetness, all she could gather, all she could find. A token to stand in for all the sweetness now beyond his reach.
The berries weren't the real gift, though, as far as he was concerned. It was that moment of lucidity, of her understanding. Understanding was hard to come by.
That was another thing. Simon understood it was really not all too healthy, the way he was living these days. Packed onto a spaceship with a bunch of smugglers -- yes, they were nice smugglers, and they'd come through for Simon when he needed them, he wasn't disputing that! Nor would he say he'd have it any other way, under the circumstances. It was the best the Tams could hope for -- no, even better than he could've hoped -- because they couldn't afford to settle down on some backwater planet, sitting ducks for the Alliance (two by two, hands of blue, and he always shivered when he remembered that). Still. The fact remained that this situation, this life on Serenity, was unstable. What River needed was stability and peace. She needed serenity with a lower-case s. She needed someplace she could really recuperate.
On Earth-That-Was, for people with tuberculosis there had been sanatoriums. Seaside resorts, oases of healing air. For rich people with tuberculosis, all right, no disputing that either. That was the kind of place River needed. Her limbic system had been stripped. Simon didn't think he could really get anyone without medical training to understand how utterly gorram excruciating that had to be for River. She couldn't not feel everything, couldn't not read everything. Here she was in a floating capsule full of tension, everyone living in one another's pockets, everyone always worrying about a heist, or unhappy about one another's behavior, or seething with unresolved desire (ahem, captain and Inara, even socially-inept Simon can tell you want in one another's pants). Not ideal for convalescence, given River's condition.
More, Simon understood the present living arrangements were unhealthy for him personally. Once he'd had a life. Now River was his life, and that wasn't good for either of them. He lived in constant agonizing hope. Every sign of improvement made his heart leap; every sign of deterioration was like a horse had kicked him in the stomach. Because once she got better, all this could be over, or at least could change. Once she got better, well enough to hide ... then maybe they could go to ground.
(Maybe that was self-delusion, that bit there. Maybe they'd never be able to settle, with the Alliance after them. Simon had to believe that one day they could. His frayed nerves needed that.)
And he knew River could read him, every time. Could there be any pressure worse than that for her, knowing that so much for him rode on her recovery, when she herself was powerless to force recovery? He knew it had to be a species of torture for her too. Indeed, he suspected it might be detrimental to her health. He feared she'd push herself too far for his sake. She'd always been an overachiever to the nth degree, after all. She'd never known failure. The Academy had taught her despair, but it had not broken her spirit. Hence Simon's hope; hence Simon's anxiety. She'd work hard to get better, maybe too hard, and maybe she wouldn't be able to compensate for the effort.
Living like this was being like a hamster in a wheel. Every day was the same round of worry and fear and hope and worry. Every day was pain. It didn't help that he couldn't fit in with the people on Serenity. They gave him more acceptance than he had any right to expect, yet he couldn't remake himself into a person who'd know how to read them. If he had a dime for every time he put his foot in his mouth ... The things he'd said to Kaylee alone made him blush, and not in a good way. Every other girl I know is either married, professional, or closely related to me, so you are more or less literally the only girl in the world. He'd meant it as a joke! A ... a way to diffuse the tension between them, that captain-and-Inara kind of tension. Something he didn't want River picking up on either, for that matter. He watched Kaylee's face turn hard and he understood he'd said something seriously wrong, and yes, he understood why, but it was too late then. And he was always saying things like that.
Thought experiment: buddy from med school somehow becomes accessible through a closed channel, safe from Alliance, a clear channel of communication for Simon to talk about stuff like this. What would buddy say? Well, Simon, they're neurotypicals. What can you expect? But that wasn't the right way to approach the problem either. Elitism had its comforts, but pernicious ones. Mal Reynolds wasn't stupid. Kaylee Frye wasn't stupid. The barrier between himself and their understanding wasn't one of intellect. It was ... a cultural difference, all right. A socioeconomic difference. He was a fish out of water -- no -- he was a koi tossed into a stream of salmon. He'd experienced more self-doubt since boarding Serenity than he'd felt in his entire life up until that point.
He was a very, very capable man. A very competent man. A man with specialized skills. He just hadn't been born and raised to the kind of necessity these people lived with. That was all.
Now he was learning about necessity. River was teaching him. The Alliance was teaching him. Every day was a pop quiz. He'd always tested well under pressure. It was just ... tiring.
This was the Simon Tam who'd gone to sleep one night (was it night? In the black, it was always night) in his bunk on Serenity. This was the Simon Tam who woke up, still in the middle of that timeless night, still in his pajamas (soft grey trousers, no shirt).
Only he was sitting on the floor now, and it wasn't the same floor. It was a stone floor.
Also, he was covered in something slick. Oil? He reached up to feel his head, to make sure he wasn't bleeding from the scalp or anything, half-expecting to find some kind of cranial trauma. His hair was clotted with the grease, sticking up in clumps. It didn't smell like engine grease.
It smelled ... like ... popcorn?
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Date: 2008-08-19 05:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-19 05:33 am (UTC)"What's your favorite book?" he asked politely. Best to be polite, no matter what.
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Date: 2008-08-19 05:35 am (UTC)Yeah, now would be a good time to stop him.
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Date: 2008-08-19 05:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-19 05:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-19 06:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-19 06:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-19 03:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-19 04:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 01:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 01:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 02:15 am (UTC)"If by magic you mean hallucinogenic, I believe you."
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Date: 2008-08-20 02:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 02:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 02:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 02:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 02:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 02:53 am (UTC)"Somehow you're less disturbing as a dog," he finally decided.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 02:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 02:56 am (UTC)"You only turn into a cat so you can get high?"
no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 03:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 03:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 03:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-21 02:52 am (UTC)"Uh ... how old are your friends?" He had a sudden disconcerting vision of a teenaged boy, who was really a dog, chatting up some unsuspecting girl. A girl like his sister.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-21 04:16 am (UTC)Wishbone would never hit up River. On purpose, anyway.
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