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After receiving Simon's wave, Gabriel had immediately arranged with Mark to not only reschedule the previously-planned dinner engagement but also to clear the last meeting of the day from his calendar.

As a result, he's able to arrive at Milliways early.

(He's not worried. Not exactly. Still, requests like this from Simon are rare enough to make him wonder.)

Gabriel takes a seat in the armchair by the fireplace and requests a cup of coffee while he waits.

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He shakes his head.

"I have, though. Late last summer -- or was it early fall?" Gabriel frowns, thinking. "Anyway, whenever it was, it wasn't that bad, all things considered."

He shrugs.

"I'll admit it took me a few weeks to feel like myself again, which is longer than I'm used to, and Vincent and your mother both insisted I take all sorts of additional treatments and medications throughout, but really--"

"Additional treatments. And medications. Would you be taking any of those with you? Or -- I'd say or know where to get them, but the strongest likelihood is that there won't be anywhere to get them on most of the worlds you'll be visiting. And that's if all you catch is a cold -- Ba, do you have any idea --"

He stops. Makes himself stop. And breathe.

"... perhaps I don't."

There's something cautious about the way he says that, something that matches the concern that's visible as he looks at his son.

His next words make it clear that his alarm's not for himself.

"Simon. Ni meí shì bà?"

For a moment the impulse is to snap back, to say don't turn this on me -- but something else, something colder, notices that his father's suddenly taking this seriously.

And says: use that.

Quietly: "Have you ever heard of a Rim disease called the damp-lung?"

He shakes his head.

"I can't say that I have, no."

"It's usually a children's disease." Calm, now. "Wash and Zoe's daughter Naomi came down with it a few months ago, after a routine cargo pickup. The standard broad-spectrum inoculation didn't catch it. I spent most of that weekend on Serenity with her, just in case, but she recovered quite nicely."

A long beat.

"It took me considerably longer."

The scar on his face stands out against his sudden pallor as he stares at Simon.

"... how much longer?"

Without waiting for an answer, he continues,

"You're all right now, though?"

"Close to half a month. And I'm all right now, yes."

A beat.

"It turns out that the damp-lung is children's pneumonic bronchiolitis. Which I caught despite having been vaccinated as a child."

Gabriel sits back in his chair and studies him.

"I wasn't aware vaccinations wore off."

His color is slowly returning, as the shock of hearing about his son's illness fades.

"It's more that it wasn't a very effective vaccination to begin with. The strain's subtly different, but the vaccine hasn't been updated in years because nobody in the Core's caught it. And there are illnesses out on the Rim that no one's ever developed a vaccine for in the first place, a thousand little local variations...."

A breath.

"Dad, do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

Silence, for one beat; two.

He meets Simon's gaze with a steady one of his own.

"Go ahead and say it," Gabriel says, quietly. "Let's have it clear."

Simon doesn't look away.

"I'm half your age and in very good physical condition, and I could have died." Quiet, and blunt. "Your own doctor's told you just how high the risk to your life is. He isn't exaggerating."

Once again silence descends, this time stretching between them like rope that grows tauter with every passing moment.

Eventually, however, Gabriel's the one to break it.

"I know," he says, quietly.

"I've known for some time that since recovering from the attack, I've been at increased risk of ... certain complications."

Such as death.

"You know."

Simon looks profoundly unreassured.

"Vincent was very clear." Gabriel sighs. "I don't want to worry him, or Regan, or you, Simon; I truly don't."

"But it's been two years, and frankly," he adds, looking slightly exasperated, "I think by now I'm aware of my own limits. I'll try not to push them too much, but what I'm planning is important."

A beat.

"It's very important, Simon. I want -- I need you to understand that."

"More important than your life?"

He's trying to tell himself that he's prepared for the answer to be yes.

His half-smile is sudden and more than a little wry.

"Depends on who you ask, doesn't it?"

Simon isn't smiling at all.

"I'm asking you, Ba."

Slowly, all signs of humor fade.

"I know."

A pause. Gabriel takes a slow breath, then says,

"I don't want to die, Simon. I'm going to try very hard not to."

He holds his son's gaze as he adds, very quietly,

"But I will never, ever again fail someone who depends on me by turning away when it's in my power to do otherwise, no matter what the risk to myself may be."

Simon opens his mouth. Closes it.

Swallows hard.

(In his head, very distantly: So that would be a yes, then.)

Gabriel nods.

"I'll talk with Vincent. Maybe there are some other precautions I can take. I'll do everything I can; I promise you that."

"Just ... listen to him, Ba. Please. Don't try to tell yourself that it isn't really that serious."

His voice is very low, and pleading.

"I will."

A wry half-smile appears.

"Don't worry about me, Simon."

"You do realize how futile it is to tell me that?" It's wry too, but at least somewhat serious.

"About as futile as it would be to tell me not to worry about you," he says.

"So yes, I suppose I do."