Working It Out by LongRider
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Pound pound, pound.
Fists against metal. Constant drumbeat rhythm.
Pound pound, pound.
Muscles aching, bones tired, skin flushed red with exertion, sweat beading down an exposed torso.
Pound pound, pound.
The tools of his trade, discarded in a corner under a bloodstained t-shirt.
Pound pound, pound.
Blood on his hands, so much blood, from the scum of the verse.
Pound pound, pound.
Blood on his hands from a shipmate, crew, family.
Pound pound, pound.
Sweat stings his eyes, words sting his mind, an unspoken promise.
Pound pound, pound.
Protect the crew. Or die trying. No more loss, no-one else, watch their backs, keep em' safe.
Pound pound, pound.
Blood on his hands, blood on his fists, blood on the metal, blood on the deck.
Pound pound, pound.
A simple job, a simple plan. Knock em' down, grab the loot, do the job, get paid.
Pound, pound pound.
Four man team, the Captain, the First Mate, the Merc and the Girl.
Pound, pound pound.
A simple job, a simple plan.
Pound, pound pound
Bullets fly, bodies drop. Vera sings, sings with his blood, the thrill of the fight.
Pound, pound pound.
Time slows down, he is fast, the Girl faster, they are so slow.
Pound, pound pound.
They have armour, but no helmets, he doesn't watch them fall like puppets with their strings cut, just picks his next target and lets Vera spit fire at them.
Pound, pound pound.
A simple job, a simple plan, a trap, they were waiting.
Pound, pound pound.
Vera finishes her song, she has nothing left, Liz takes over, a different voice but the same song.
Pound, pound pound.
No more puppets, no more strings, no more singing.
Pound, pound pound.
Silence, the dust settles, they have the loot and only a few scratches.
Pound, pound pound.
Mal and Zoe are reloading on the run, their guns don't have names, there's something wrong with that.
Pound, pound pound.
He and the Girl are picking up the loot, she can barely lift the one sack she's carrying, makes him laugh. Girl can take down an entire boat load of Reavers. Can drop him on his ass without breaking a sweat. Can't lift anything heavier than a stack of dishes.
Pound, pound pound.
The familiar whine of the mule blocks out all other noise, all the sacks are thrown on.
Pound, pound pound.
He turns to help the Girl up, only to find she's sat on her rump staring at her hands. They're covered in blood.
Pound pound pound.
Mal and Zoe have already dropped the one who shot the Girl. He can see the stain spreading across her middle. Eyes that have looked to him with all manner of feelings now look with confusion.
She's never been shot before.
Pound pound pound.
He doesn't remember scooping her up, he doesn't remember carrying her onto the mule, he doesn't remember yelling at Zoe to move it.
Pound pound pound.
He remembers wrapping her up in his jacket, he remembers pressing his t-shirt over the wound, he remembers her eyes closing.
Pound pound pound.
He doesn't remember arriving on Serenity, he doesn't remember carrying her to the infirmary, he doesn't remember Mal and Zoe pulling him out of the room.
Pound pound pound.
He does remember Inara running to help the Doc, he does remember Mal and Zoe running up to the bridge to get the ship off planet.
He wishes he doesn't remember the tears in Kaylee's eyes.
Pound pound pound.
Don't make no sense. He was the bigger target, the bigger threat, girl wasn't even carrying a gun. He broke his promise, failed to protect his crew.
Pound pound pound.
Wash used to make him laugh, little-man was as annoying as hell. Wasn't that big a threat. Reavers killed him. Failed.
Pound pound pound.
Book used to make him think. Preacher accepted him for who he was, man knew stuff. Alliance man killed him. Failed.
Pound pound pound.
The boy on Canton, indentured servant, fancy name for a slave, took a bullet meant for him. Failed.
Pound pound pound.
That bullet was meant for him.
Pound pound pound
That ruttin' bullet was meant for him.
Pound pound pound.
Not the Girl.
Pound.
Him.
Pound.
Not the Little-man.
Pound.
Him.
Pound.
Not the Preacher.
Pound.
Him.
Pound.
Not the boy.
Pound.
Him.
The drumbeat stops, his breaths come in ragged gasps, a truth revealed.
Should have been him.
The drumbeat resumes, slower now, arms are so heavy he can barely lift them, the wraps on his hands are torn, split and bloodied, he doesn't feel it.
Doesn't feel any of it.
Pound pound.
He is a mercenary.
Pound pound.
He uses hands, blades and bullets.
Pound pound.
He stays alive by being better than the other guy.
Pound pound.
He inflicts pain.
Pound pound.
Pain is good.
Pound pound.
Pain means you're still alive.
Pound pound.
He doesn't feel anything.
Pound pound
So he hits harder.
Pound.
He grunts with every hit.
Pound.
Kaylee tries to talk to him.
Pound.
He ignores her. She leaves.
Pound.
Inarra watches him for a while.
Pound.
She leaves, shaking her head like she knows something the others don't.
Pound.
Zoe comes by.
Pound.
She doesn't say a word.
Pound.
He don't need her to, he already knows.
Pound.
Knows he needs to be stronger.
Pound.
Needs to be faster.
Pound.
Be deadlier.
Pound.
Better.
Pound.
Zoe backs off when Mal comes in.
Pound.
He spouts some crap about how everyone's got one bullet with their name on it.
Pound pound pound pound pound.
If he had the breath he'd tell the Captain how many times he's been shot.
Pound pound pound pound.
Stabbed.
Pound pound pound.
Busted up.
Pound pound.
Knocked out.
Pound.
And how many times he'd be the one to do it.
Pound.
But he doesn't speak, his lungs are on fire, his throat has been blasted dry.
Pound.
Mal tells him he did a damn good job today.
Pound.
And winces as he hears a bone break
Pound.
And another.
He doesn't hear the rest, if he did he would realise that the Captain had stopped his rare praise.
Pound.
The big man is too wrapped up in his world, which consists of an old, now dented piece of metal, 2 shredded, bloodied fists and his own internal rerun of this morning.
Pound.
He should have made sure they were all dead.
Pound.
He should have insisted the Girl stayed with the ship.
Pound.
He should have taken the bullet.
Pound.
He should have quit the moment he started caring.
Pound.
The stinging pains from both hands start shooting up his arms, he's lost track of how long he's been there, his remaining clothes are stuck to him, there are ,more spots dancing in-front of his eyes and the ship seems to be rocking a bit.
He doesn't care.
Pound.
Doesn't care.
Pound.
Doesn't.
Pound.
Care.
Cold, absolute, freezing wet cold covers him, when he looks up he sees Kaylee and Zoe on the platform above each with an empty bucket. He turns to the stairs and sees the Doc has joined Mal there.
Doc says he needs to treat his wounds, and gets cussed out for sticking his nose in.
Mal makes it an order and gets a snarl in reply, everybody's grim-faced, but no-one backs off.
Kaylee pleads that he let them help, he don't know how to tell them he don't deserve it. They don't think he screwed up. He's the gun-hand, he's supposed to take the hits, not them, that's his job, that's how he earns his 10% By being mean and scary.
Cept there ain't no-one scared of him. Kaylee's as pale as a sheet and the Doc is a shade or 2 behind her. Zoe is as unreadable as he's ever seen her and Mal looks just plain pissed off at him.
Maybe he's finally lost his edge, can't do the job if he can't intimidate folk. Maybe shoulda caught that bullet, he's on borrowed time as it is. Not many in his line of work last as long as he has. Probably lasted too long.
Doc says to sit down and let him look at the damage. Kaylee's trying not to look at the cargo bay floor.
That finally tips it for him, but storming off on wobbly legs is tougher than it looks, specially when 2 strong people got you by the arms.
When did everyone move so fast?
Jayne let himself be lead until he realises he don't need no help, but they won't let go of him.
Great. Can't even take care of himself now.
A sting on the arm signals a trip to fuzzy-land.
What is it with the Tams, they like knocking him out so much?
He wakes up to the feel of someone stroking his head. It feels nice. He cracks an eye open to look.
Yup, Infirmary again. So they managed to drag me in here this time.
The lights are dim, Doc started doing that after Miranda.
He chances a look at who's stroking his head, but all he can see is a pale blur.
Damn, still doped.
"You shouldn't listen." The Girl says, so she's the one stroking his head.
She has nice hands.
"Thank you."
"Stop that." She's reading his mind again, said she wouldn't do that anymore.
"Can't be helped."
"Huh?" It's kinda hard to hold a thought, them drugs the Doc gave him made him loopy.
"You shouldn't listen." She says again as she swims into focus. There's light all around her.
"You're glowing." Damn but it's hard to focus when the Girl has such light skin. She smiles down at him as if he's paid her the highest compliment in the verse. When he moves to stop her stroking he finds he can't
"Must not move paws." Girl says with a frown.
"Why?" He tries again. Can Barely feel em.
"Stop that, can't play with broken claws." So they are broken, that explained the drugs. Now that is a shiny shiny forehead.
"Don't change subject." She's glaring at him now.
"You okay?" Don't see no damage.
"Big Cat has been asleep for a while." Answer number 2. She moves closer and whispers.
"You shouldn't listen."
"To what." She's starting to get on his nerves now.
"In your head." Girls confused again. I ain't the crazy one.
"Not crazy!" She shouts, makes him wince.
"Just crowded." Pointing to her head in explanation.
"Huh." There's them angel lights on the ceiling, hasn't seen them since Wash was . . .
"No! Don't listen." She pleads, turning his head in her direction.
"Then shut up." Not bad, 3 words, no slurrin' that time.
"Not my voice, yours." There's that look again, got to be the biggest brown eyes I ever did see.
"Stupid Jayne." That snaps him back. He don't take kindly to being called stupid.
"Leave me alone." He tries to put menace into his voice but he's too damn tired.
"Must listen." There's light in her eyes now. How did that get there?
"Make up your mind."
"Can't, blue hands took away all the tools." It amazes him that made sense. Good drugs.
"You're to heavy." That surprises him.
"Can't carry you."
"I do the heavy lifting." He answers back, he knows his job well enough. But if the shake of her head is any indication, it's not what she meant.
"Blue hands took tools from the workers, left an angry crowd in her head, like crowd in your head."
"Nothin wrong with my head." 5 word that time, feelin pretty good bout that.
"Has bad voice, shouldn't listen."
"Huh." That earns him an eye roll.
"No tools for the workers to redirect the River. River remembered being a girl, remembered too much, couldn't stop the flow."
"Doc said you were better." He stares, trying to understand.
"Union reps have been introduced, Dams have been built, but they are hand made. Too much and they will crumble." Now that time he understood it. Yessir, good drugs.
She crawls over and kisses him. Girl tastes like apples.
"Like this song better." she lays down her head down on his chest.
"Thump thump, thump thump. Good sound. No bad here." He can feel her getting comfortable, can feel the warmth of her body, hell, can feel her smile. Girls getting too comfortable, all snuggled up on him.
"Had to stop it, rules, can't go until brown turns grey and the cat loses its stripes." She is entirely too comfortable. But he can't move her. So he settles in to sleep.