Disclaimer: Boss. Joss. Yeah... you get it.

A/N: The writing beast has taken over! Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews and encouragement :D

So - this story is going to be a little shorter than the previous ones but maybe/possibly/potentially/probably... there might be a Part Two. We'll see...

Without further ado, I present: Lesson #5 in The Anatomy Series. Enjoy :)

Eyes

by Tince

Jayne Cobb wasn't sure if he could move his neck.

...or his left leg. Or right arm.

Yeah, his whole body really.

'Cause as of right now, there was 'bout ninety pounds of tiny, sweet-smelling, gorgeous girl on his left and she was on the move.

Closer. To him.

If he had to pin it down, he'd say it had all started when he'd bought those crates of apples for Ri-the crew. He'd had a conversation (still made him feel sick with anger, if he thought on it too much) with the Doc a couple of weeks ago and that's when it had begun.

Ever since that night (following the Doc's horrible story), no matter where he was, no matter what he was doing - you could bet your last grenade that Ri-the Girl would be there as well. Dancing, eating an apple, humming under her breath. Watching him.

He still wasn't 100% sure what she was doing.

...but he was almost 100% sure he didn't want her to stop.

So he didn't bother tellin' her off after the first couple days, ignorin' Zoe's raised eyebrows, and 'Nara sly smile, and Mal's suspicious glances. As long as she stayed quiet(-ish), he didn't waste his time tellin' her off. Not like she'd listen to him anyway.

But, if he had to choose, he'd say that the strangest part of this new routine was what happened after dinner every night. In the last couple of months, the ship's arsenal had grown so large, he'd had to split up the maintenance over the week. This meant that for a few hours every night, you could find him sittin' on the couch in the common area, strippin' and cleanin' the guns.

And 'cause of the Girl's new habit of joinin' him everywhere 'cept the shower n' his bunk (Wo de ma... he wasn't going to think about that) - she'd plopped herself down next to him in the evenings too. It had started that first night after his and the Doc's talk, and hadn't stopped since.

Sometimes she asked questions and he'd grunt a response, or she'd help if he was workin' with a lot parts - handin' him the oil or a cloth - but for the most part, he'd work and she'd read a book.

It was quiet. Calm. Peaceful.

...he'd almost passed out the first couple of times it had happened, he was so uncomfortable.

Not uncomfortable like he used to be 'round her, scared she was going to go crazy and murder him (he figured if she hadn't done it yet, it was unlikely she'd do it now) - but this time, he was more uncomfortable as to why she was sittin' there. And why he really, really didn't mind so much.

Then there was the not-so-small problem that he wanted to look at her. And he meant really look at her. It was like every time she was around or in the room, his eyes couldn't help but find her (and he sure as hell didn't want to think about why).

Still, he knew that would lead to some embarrassin' behaviour - lookin' really hard at someone was usually followed by starin' really hard at someone - and he just didn't need the trouble... or the questions.

So he avoided eye-contact and face-contact and hair-contact and every other pretty part o'hers he wanted to look at (along with a couple of other things that weren't limited to just lookin'), and just tried to make it through the hours with her sittin' next to him, smellin' too damn good and drivin' him out'ta his ruttin' mind. He was Jayne Cobb, gorramit - and hell if he was gonna leave. She could leave if'n she wanted to (and it pissed. him. off that half of him hoped she would, and half hoped she wouldn't).

But after countless evenings, he learn'd to focus on the mix'd smells of gun oil and apples, and eventually - he relaxed.

It was almost kinda... nice, havin' her there - as company, that was. He'd clean the guns, strippin' and reassemblin', and he'd hear her soft, shallow breaths and the turnin' of her book's pages 'n that was all.

He still wouldn't look at her directly, but after enough time spent in a closed space - he did allow himself to think about her without immediately feelin' guilty. 'Cause whenever he had... uh, thoughts about her in private - he'd feel like a dirty, ol' hun dan and so he'd try not to think about her - but he would anyway - and it all gave him a ruttin' headache. All the hidin' and feelin' guilty was startin' to take a toll on him, but he reasoned, if she were right there, sittin' in front'ta him... how could he not think about her? Only natural. It was completely normal, completely (okay, mostly) innocent.

Until now.

...'cause the Girl had obviously gotten wind of the fact that he had finally managed to not make a fool of hisself when she was around, and was now doin' her damndest to ruin it by killin' him.

He could feel his entire body stiffen up as he heard the soft rustling of - rather than saw (he wasn't gonna look at her, he was not) - her moving closer.

And then he felt it.

He'd been sitting with his legs spread in front of him, an oily cloth spread across his knees and various parts laid out, and now there was very clearly, a warm, pretty girl pressed up snugly against his entire left side - shoulder to waist to hip to knee.

Ruttin' hell.

He realised his hands had stopped what they were doing sometime ago, and he'd been frozen in place like an idiot since she had started shiftin' over. So he carefully (he didn't want to jostle her or nothin') and slowly picked up the part he had been workin' on (maybe it was the same part - he couldn't remember much) and went back to cleanin' it.

A few minutes later, he felt a feather-light brush against his arm and then he was surrounded by what he'd come to realize was the very distinctive smell of River's hair, as she moved her head closer to his body. Not even realizin' that he had been holdin' his breath, he waited for her to move back - figurin' she had been adjustin' herself on the couch.

...but she didn't move back.

And when he was pretty sure she wasn't goin' to anytime soon, he slowly released the breath (casually, of course) - and he couldn't help notin' with, no small amount of pleasure, that her small body moved just slightly with his at the action.

In a few seconds, he brought his focus back to the weapons in front of him (he was gettin' better at recoverin' from her) and resumed his work - 'cept this time, he didn't even try to fight it when he could feel the corners of his mouth turnin' up.

And if anyone said that it took him almost three times as long to finish with the guns that night... well, he'd deny it till the day he died.

A/N: Reviews are - as always - much appreciated... and highly motivational ;P