Untitled Drabble-ish Thing

Simon-centric; post-BDM; Simon/Kaylee implied

Proximity blurs the boundaries. Simon knows this; before their rotation on the hospice ward, Dr. Ninh had warned all the residents that continued contact with the same set of patients is a breeding ground for problems. He had delivered the lecture in his dry, raspy voice, staring at each of them in turn from behind a lucite podium. Later, Simon had accessed on the Cortex Marcus Cho's notes from the previous trimester and found Ninh's lecture transcribed word for word: People who are grieving often mistake familiarity and professional kindness for something much deeper. Be certain that in your interactions with patients and their families that you do not allow either your dignity or the dignity of our clients to suffer.

Simon thinks of these words often in the months after Wash dies. He feels out the edges of Zoe's wound as it heals, runs his fingers down the bruises on Mal's torso, wipes blood from a cut inside the hairline behind Jayne's left ear. He scrapes the Reaver paint from Serenity's hull shoulder to shoulder with Kaylee, sweat wicking down his shirtsleeves and onto her overalls. When Simon breathes, he knows each lungful belonged to Inara first, or to River, or maybe once to Shepherd Book. Before he sleeps each night, Simon splays his hand on the swell of Kaylee's hip, her warmth bleeding into his.