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F: Evidence
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: The first signs of it, creeping up. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jamileigh17's prompt of "glasses".
Simon sits patiently, waiting for his father's attention. He can hear the ticking of the clock, a sound that normally soothes and now sets his nerves on edge. The letter is on his lap: the letter that first set his nerves jangling when he found it this morning. Just this morning? It seems like an age ago.
Finally, his father reaches for his glasses, putting them on carefully. It seems odd to think of him with glasses, since he's always been in such perfect health: meticulous in attending appointments at the doctor's, dentist's, optician's and any other health establishment that got hold of him. Meticulous in sending his children there, too.
Age catches up with everyone.
Simon passes the letter over, trying to ignore the feeling of his stomach clamping down on itself. He fears his father won't take it seriously, won't recognise the confusion and fear in River's words -- her need to be rescued.
"Well?" he asks, at last, his eyes on the carpet, his ears still straining for the tick-tick-tick of the clock that sets the pace for his heart.
"I don't see the problem. Obviously, River wrote this in a hurry, but..."
He knows from the look on his father's face that he'll get no help here. Not yet. He needs more evidence. He reaches for the letter, folding it carefully and putting it in his pocket. "Thank you for giving me some of your time, anyway, Father."
"It's always a pleasure to see you," his father replies, coolly.
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: The first signs of it, creeping up. For
jamileigh17's prompt of "glasses".Simon sits patiently, waiting for his father's attention. He can hear the ticking of the clock, a sound that normally soothes and now sets his nerves on edge. The letter is on his lap: the letter that first set his nerves jangling when he found it this morning. Just this morning? It seems like an age ago.
Finally, his father reaches for his glasses, putting them on carefully. It seems odd to think of him with glasses, since he's always been in such perfect health: meticulous in attending appointments at the doctor's, dentist's, optician's and any other health establishment that got hold of him. Meticulous in sending his children there, too.
Age catches up with everyone.
Simon passes the letter over, trying to ignore the feeling of his stomach clamping down on itself. He fears his father won't take it seriously, won't recognise the confusion and fear in River's words -- her need to be rescued.
"Well?" he asks, at last, his eyes on the carpet, his ears still straining for the tick-tick-tick of the clock that sets the pace for his heart.
"I don't see the problem. Obviously, River wrote this in a hurry, but..."
He knows from the look on his father's face that he'll get no help here. Not yet. He needs more evidence. He reaches for the letter, folding it carefully and putting it in his pocket. "Thank you for giving me some of your time, anyway, Father."
"It's always a pleasure to see you," his father replies, coolly.