Warnings: Altered timeline from 'Ariel', angst Time period: Around 'Trash'

Thanks to lvs2read for the great beta and thunder_nari for the great beta and spurring me on.

~

Simon’s tired, more than just tired even. His head’s fuzzy though he can’t deny he’s been sleeping, legs aching and he still feels cold no matter how warm they make his room at night. He can’t brush off the residual shakes from being inside that tank, not once or twice now, three times. Three confusing, disorientating, heart stopping times. One day he expects to feel surprise rather than the resignation that comes before he steps into the hole and splashes into water. One day he’s sure he’ll feel pain and shock as he hits nothing but metal bottom. It keeps him tense just thinking about when.

The operative is staring at him, making good on his word that he’ll see Simon again, making it clear that when they are together there’s nothing but civility and calm. He’s again offering Simon water, pouring it into a glass and this time Simon drinks it gratefully. The last day has done nothing but make him thirsty, surrounded by water he doesn’t want to drink. Water that could be soiled or salty, has his own bodily products in it when the hours have drawn too long and he’s felt pain in his bladder.

The days have bled into each other, nights never seeming long enough to give Simon true rest, stomach never all that hungry to eat anymore. Even if the food he’s given is closer to that which he had on Osiris than on Serenity, lush and rich, not mainly protein mush. Odd how he misses the mush now. ...

The operative is calm and collected, not showing the frustration he feels. The emotion doesn’t stem from Simon’s stubbornness. The man is impeccably mannered and were Simon's company more conversational than interrogatory the operative would enjoy it occurring more frequently. Maybe in the future when Simon’s mindset changes and the man becomes an asset and colleague. The operative's frustration stems from the ineptitude of the sources Blue Sun’s managed to acquire. Those inquiring about the reward, those with small bits of information on the Tams and those who just want the money the reward offers. It’s exasperating judging which are real and which are not, having to hide the mess left behind even in a clean kill or strike when something genuine is revealed.

Even more frustrating is knowing that their best source was someone close to the Tams, a man who refused to leave his name and whose picture scan they haven’t managed to trace to an identity. A man willing to sell out the Tams, who should have been awarded his due and then dealt with when his guard was down. Instead, members of his own organization had bungled the operation, had failed to secure the Tams and keep tabs on their betrayer and had spoken to all three. The latter had resulted in their own termination. Regrettable, but the means justified the ends, and all the operative would do was ensure their dependents were taken care of, given compensation and the like. The former allowed their only decent source to escape away, taking River Tam with him for some unfathomable reason. Guilt, perhaps? Or possibly as a bargaining chip later. The bounty on her head was slightly larger than her brother’s. He would lay stakes on the second; men of honor are rare in any case, and a man who’d sell out those he may have been being paid to protect strikes the operative as one who’d know no bounds. Or honor. Until they identify him they’ll have to wait for him to come to them, and just keep scouring planet by planet to find them.

Simon’s tired, the operative can see that, offers water he knows will give the doctor rest of a kind, though only for a few hours. Blue Sun is eager to take the doctor’s conditioning to a higher level now, to up the discomfort within his interrogations. The only water or food the doctor will receive now will come through him, make Simon dependent on him and even turn to him in time perhaps.

Simon’s getting impatient now, tiredness putting him on edge, waiting for the operative to speak. The man’s regarding him thoughtfully, keeping quiet and waiting for Simon to say something, but Simon’s not sure what to say. He knows they haven’t found River, surely they wouldn’t be keeping up this game if they had. He knows they’re pushing him, testing his limits. Well aware he hasn’t spent as many days locked up as they’d like him to believe, Simon half suspects they are drugging him through food or drink, trying to change his bodies natural responses and wear him down by confusing him. But it’s not going to work.

They aren’t as smart as they’d like to think or Simon’s smarter than they anticipated. Experimenting himself, proving the nights weren’t as long as a true night is meant to be, he’d cut an apple just before fatigue had made him stumble to his bed. Had hidden one of the slices under the pillow before sinking down onto it and sleeping. The fruit had been slightly browned when he’d woken, just starting to turn, but not the unpleasant coloration or taste it would have been after a night's sleep. More like after an hour.

“Do you want to tell me about her?”

Simon plays dumb for a moment, eyes snapping to the operative’s. “Who?”

The operative smiles, amused to see the doctor hasn’t lost his sense of humor. “Your sister, Doctor Tam.”

“Oh.” Simon feigns consideration for a moment, “Do I want to tell the people who hacked into my meimei's mind where she is, so they can do it again? No, no, I don’t think so.” He shakes his head at the idea.

“You misunderstand me. I know you have no intention of giving River up to us, yet.” The operative seems convinced the situation warrants a yet; strong as Simon appears he won’t last for long, no one ever did. “I meant tell me about her. About your sister.”

“Why?” Simon’s looking perplexed, almost distasteful of the idea. He’s not about to start discussing River, not about to trade stories with the man.

“You called for her you know, whilst you were in the tank. They heard you.“ The operative doesn’t answer the way Simon expects and knows he’s taken Simon by surprise when he sees the doctor’s reaction to his statement.

Simon pales, blood draining from his face as he tries to recall his time in the tank. Tries to remember what he’s wanted to forget. Did I say anything about River? About the captain? Or Serenity. Ma de, what if I gave them away. I wasn’t thinking, should have been on guard. Hundans wanted to me to let my guard down, and I did.

“Relax, Doctor, you didn’t say anything untoward.” The operative enjoys Simon’s expression for a moment; watches panic flare in the man’s eyes, animating his tense face even though he tries to hide it.

“Well, you would say that.” Simon snidely shoots back the comment, tightening his lips to swallow back the words, angry at himself for speaking before he’s had a chance to think. If he keeps this up it won’t be long before he’s saying something that could give River away.

“And you would be annoyed.” The operative ignores the outburst, face stoic, though he feels a small surge of satisfaction at seeing the doctor bend slightly. “Forgive me, it was rude to ask.”

So why did you? Simon thinks, though he already knows the answer. To push him, just as they’ve constantly been doing. He can sense the talking has drawn to an end, however short their time together, the operative’s glancing towards the mirrored wall at the end rather than at him. In some ways he wants to prolong the conversation, even though he’s afraid of what he’ll give away, would prefer it to going back to a false sleep or more time in the tank. Or worse, being interrogated by the blue-handed men. He wishes he had names for them, for the blue-handed men, the operative, even their lackeys who wander about acting as security or interested spectators. Or maybe the anonymity is good, without names he wouldn’t know who to address--or beg, they’ll want you to beg you know--it would make it all the more real.

“I should be going now, thank you for a pleasant talk though, Doctor Tam.” Courteous as always, it never crosses the operative’s mind to be anything like uncouth towards Simon. Moving over to the wall he holds his palm up to it, letting the pinprick laser read the code on his wrist device and activating the door to slide open.

Simon doesn’t say a word, quickly reaches for the water and drinks it, gulping. He doesn’t know what the operative does, won’t be expecting no food or water for a few days, but his gut instinct tells him to take what he can, when he can, and quench his thirst.

The door slides shut behind the operative, as he moves to converse with the other men, out of sight and hearing of Simon, who sits alone in the now doorless room. He fidgets, resisting the urge to turn and face the mirrored wall. He knows they’re watching, can feel his ears burn as they talk about him, his back heat as they look at him. It’s not a scientific explanation, but the crawling feeling on the back of Simon’s neck tells him all he needs to know and he sits quietly, feeling the tiredness settle more over him as the sedative begins to work.

It’s faster than before, or maybe the operative’s taking longer, but the drug is well into his system by the time he’s escorted back to his room. Simon stumbles clumsily to the bed, managing to crawl onto it before he succumbs to an unnatural sleep, uncaring that he’s being watched once more; being discussed and dissected, his weaknesses highlighted and ready to be probed and exposed.