I have no idea why I didn't post these next two chapters when I wrote them a year ago, but I didn't, so here they are now. Basically, this is a series of Simon/Inara friendship oneshots, and it works with the Word-of-God canon that Inara was going to develop some kind of terminal illness. I like to imagine that Simon's the only person she would have told on the ship.

Anyway, this chapter takes place just after Our Mrs. Reynolds, and features a little bit of mischievous Simon.

They've sailed through the remnants of the net, relief in the air; Wash and Kaylee are applying themselves to their various stations, doing what needs to be done – and before she can make her excuses and head back to her shuttle (she really does still feel a little woozy), Simon stops Inara with a hand on her arm.

"Could you come with me a moment?"

She looks up at him, surprised; there's a flash of something in his eyes she doesn't like. Before her own even have a chance to narrow in suspicion, he elaborates. "To the infirmary. I need to check on your head."

"Why do you" –

"I just want to make sure you don't have a concussion or anything," he says lightly. "From when you fell."

There's too much stress on that last word, and that is a definite gleam of amusement in his eyes. Now she lets her own narrow at him, but protesting now will make it too obvious. She's starting to gain back some control of her mental faculties, and she realizes that her defensiveness earlier was already too obvious, and she needs to dial it back. "Right," she says instead. "That, uh, would be a good idea."

She's expecting him to pounce when they reach the infirmary, but he doesn't. Opens the door for her and makes a motion for her to sit in the chair, like a gallant gentleman. Maybe he really did buy her story?

He shines a little light in her eyes, asks her to follow the motion of his finger with them. "Do you feel dizzy at all?" he asks. "Nauseous?"

"Not any" – She fumbles. "No."

"Not anymore, I see." A smirk strains at the edges of his mouth. "Not like when you first succumbed?"

There it is. She supposes the gracious part of her (buried deep down right now) is glad he's lightened up enough to tease her, but that's not really at the forefront at this particular moment. "Succumbed?" she asks, hoping her voice is threatening enough to stop him.

Not so. His lips tighten and loosen in waves, like he's trying very, very hard to suppress a laugh. "To the Goodnight Kiss, of course."

"I didn't" – she starts, but his look tells her that line of protest is dead before she can even start. She switches tack instead. "I did not kiss Saffron," she says hotly.

The smile bursts free, unfurls across his face; internally, she takes back the thing about him being gentlemanly. "Oh, I know."

Before she can muster up any kind of enraged response, he steps back and pulls the doctor mantle back on. "Well, you should be fine, in any case. Your dosage seems to have been significantly less than Mal's" –

She commends herself for not flinching. He's grinning again, waiting, so she pulls her face as smooth as she can, tries not to give him any satisfaction save an icy glare.

But she makes the mistake of looking at his face for too long, and that smile – his eyes crinkled at the corners, lips stretching around his teeth – it's looser and more open than she's ever seen him. Enough that first her own mask starts to soften, then crumble – and then she's letting her head fall back against the cot's headrest and laughing. Quiet chuckles at first, but then he joins in, and his laugh is higher-pitched than she would have expected, more of a giggle. So infectious that instead of stopping, she laughs harder, until she's practically forgotten what started it in the first place.

She stops, finally, when her sides start hurting. Takes a couple of deep breaths to calm her still-spinning head, and then looks up at Simon again. "Don't tell anyone," she says – phrased as a command, but more of a plea. There are many reasons she hasn't confessed her feelings to Mal – reasons that no one on the ship need know – and while she can't deny the temptation of letting Mal know, the setting of the infirmary looms large around her, reminding her why she can't. All of a sudden, weights settle in at the corners of her mouth, dragging the smile from her face.

Simon's still smiling at her, but his own turns hesitant, uncertain. "Of course I won't," he says, probably seeking to cheer her up, not knowing the real reason for her sudden solemnness. "I take doctor-patient confidentiality with the utmost seriousness."

He tips his head to the side, urging her to get the joke, to laugh with him again, but the moment has fled. Doctor-patient confidentiality – the words expand in Inara's mind, settle into that corner with all the other things she spends so much time trying not to think about. The corner that is growing larger and larger every day, with every encounter with Simon.

She forces her words light, though the smile is gone for good. "I never doubted it, Doctor," she teases, but seriousness takes over, making the next words heavier than they should. "Thank you."

She leaves him looking confused in the infirmary, but suddenly, she needs to leave. Needs to flee back to her shuttle, back away from the thoughts that are suddenly too present, too much.

Confidentiality.

She needs to tell him. And soon.

At least after today, she knows she can trust him.