Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns this Sandbox, I just wear the fearsome Jayne hat and kick about in the sandbox.
Notes: Someone asked me nicely, and I started shipping somewhere along the way. Great. Also I'm aware my tenses got fucked up somewhere along the way. It's officially Christmas now; I'll come back and fix later, gimme a break? I'll learn to update before midnight at some point, I swear.
There's a job that goes well, for once, and Mal comes aboard grinning, pockets jangling with money still to spare and Jayne trailing after, a box of supplies over each shoulder, Zoe with another besides. Enough food stuffs to put to stock for a couple months to come, a new navigational doohickey for Wash, and then the surprise that makes Mal light up like Father Christmas.
Apples.
There s some slightly bruised, which Mal takes into his own possession, but still, fruit is fruit and fresh at that. The very smell of them perfumes the hold and the crew's delight is palpable. Even Inara smiles, one immaculate eyebrow raised as she takes her share. Kaylee is the most ecstatic; she tails that bag all the way to the kitchen and Jayne feels fair clever for have insisting that he carry it in.
Mal rations them out as evenly as he knows how and they go faster then anyone can blink, Kaylee's the fastest of them all; her chin luridly sticky-shiny from the juice, licking her lips in lazy pleasure long after.
Jayne watches from the corner of his eye and shudders, subtle.
Of all of then, he eats them the slowest, cutting each in slivers more thorough then either Zoe or the Captain, sucking them in his mouth, smug as the rest of them unconsciously eye his treasure, their own long laid to rest in their bellies.
And then he catches Kaylee's eyes on him, soft and longing. He let's her watch him eat a slice, makes a show of liking it more then he does, knowing that if the Captain was in the room he'd be called out for his teasing, but ain't no one there in the kitchen but them and the Ship's occasional pleasant rumble.
He cuts into the apple again, spearing the sliver again on his knife point, as he did the first, and holds it across the table to her.
She looks up at him, all doe-eyed, and a might suspicious besides; Kaylee's innocent in her way but she ain't stupid. He began to pull back, huffy, "Well if you don t want any-" and her eyes fluttered away from him; she leaned forward to take it from the blade, pulling the slice back with lips and a careful sweep of her tongue, and Jayne breathed a might slower. He feeds her the next couple slices in the same fashion, enough sense in him to eat one or two between and pretend he's forgotten her before he holds the blade out again.
They don t speak a word til they get down to the core and he chews it thoughtfully, spitting the seeds onto the table. Kaylee swept them into her hand, rolling her eyes, voice soft and amused. "You can be mighty kind when you wanna be, Jayne." She looked like she might say something more, and he found himself curious, and unwilling to hear any further talk.
"Aw, don t get all soft n gooey now," he groused wetly around the stiff cartilage of the core and she rolled her eyes again and walked off.
He licks the knife clean and could swear, beneath the tang of apple juice, there's a subtle flavor of Kaylee, just lingerin.
Kaylee warn't much good with broken things, at least those that wern't machine. Still, Jayne was pretty sure he wasn't imagining her hoverin inside the sickbay doors, face all pinched and pale, especially with all Mal's bellowin for her to git. He would have joined in too; Kaylee didn't belong in that room, fact was fact, but everything was to filmy and fuzzy and it hurt too gorram bad for him to do anything but howl as Zoe sewed his middle back together.
God he would snap all their necks for some anesthesia. Instead he clumsily swallowed more bourbon (it spilled down most of his shirt) and tried not to faint.
Still, he noted with vague interest, that she hadn't gone. Or he was fantasizing. Well...no. If he was fantasizing she'd probably be Nurse Kaylee and this would be havin a much happier ending then needles in his gullet and-
Zoe blinked calmly down at him as he swears in guttural Chinese; her bedside manner, as usual, icy.
"I ain't goin! Captain, what if he- what if..." Kaylee was near caterwauling and if anyone had the right to be wailin it was Jayne and he didn't want her to be there, worryin. He jerked himself up into a sitting position, near biting through his lip at the slash of pain. Zoe tried to push him back; he swatted at her irritably, coming near to bowling her over. "I ain't gonna ruttin die!" he wheezed, white spots of pain overtaking his vision. "Now git out before I..." He wobbled and Zoe pushed him back, Mal taking advantage of the moment to scoot Kaylee firmly out the doors, both swearing fitfully.
The last look he caught, as his vision cleared somewhere in between the falling, was a sudden flood of tears, makin her more wretched even, then before. The hard lump of guilt in his throat was altogether too easy to fix on, despite the pain. "What'd you let her in here for, Mal?" he groaned, letting Zoe finish her patching.
Mal wiped his brow and shot him a cross look. "Warn't like there was much stoppin her."
"Yeah." Jayne snorted admirably, wheezing a bit. "Pigheaded little..." he couldn't think of anything to say that didn't imply mental defect or prostitution, both things he figured the Captain would smack him for, belly wound or not. He let it lie. "Ain't she? Our little Kaylee?"
Mal nodded grimly, holding the bottle to Jayne's lips, his eyes following Zoe's progress. "Ain't she just."
The Reavers come when they've walked two miles out of town, almost halfway to the rendezvous, but it isn't enough. A galaxy don't feel like half enough when Reavers set out raiding; a stretch of lumpy dirt road is nothing.
A second before Kaylee'd been chattering about engine parts and the dumplings they'd just eaten, the cheer to her fair annoying, or would be, if she warn't smiling at him like he was a ruttin co-conspirator in her plots. Her arms were weighed with the oil-cloth wrapped parts and a small paper bag of peaches that she peered into delightedly; wasn't nothing like fresh fruit to make Kaylee all bright-eyed and coy. It was worth the extra coin he'd shelled out on the treat to see her grin.
He'd have given just about anything to stay in that moment- the sun shinin off her hair, making it copper, and that wide smile. The screamin starts though, and they both know what it means, blood chillin in their veins.
You can't mistake a Reaver raid for nothing but that. It's like putting a fox in a hen house and watching the feathers fly- pure, insensible terror, but even that wasn't good enough. Foxes killed chickens cause they was hungry. Reavers killed people cause they was the nastiest sons of bitches that a mother's son ever saw. They scared him down to the marrow of his bones; warn't the bloodbath cause that was Jayne's territory. He knew a bloodbath easy, he was usually right in the middle of em, carvin. It was something more then that, something he didn't care to examine, especially with so few miles between him and them.
The both of them had frozen up, instinctively hunching over, and if he hadn't froze with his eyes fixed on Kaylee, gorram it, he wouldn't have had the stones to turn his head and watch her try to work the muscles of her mouth. She was pale under her tan, whey skinned and stuttterin. "S-s-serenity-"
It was enough to get him movin. He had a radio at his hip, easy as pie to call 'em up. He knew better. "That tub can't sweet in subtle and save us," he hissed, nearly wrenchin her arm out of it's socket as he hauled her off road; was like her feed had froze to the clay. Her eyes flashed a little at the slight to her ship, if he hadn't been ready to piss himself, he'd have been mighty proud. "Draw 'em to us faster then not and-" She dropped the peaches somewhere as they stumbled; they rolled wetly through the underbrush, the paper bag crinkling where it falls. She hung onto the oilcloth; it was enough.
They tumbled into a foxhole, dust clouds rising after their feet. It was barely even a little ditch, with stiff dry brush and tumbleweeds; it was the shittiest hole he's ever hid in, but the whole gorram countryside was as flat as a dinner plate, so it'd have to do.
She'd begun to hiccup after he called in the warning and silenced the radio over Mal's impotent oaths; static radio pops don't do much for silence and sneakin. The screams got louder and she moaned, low in her throat like pain, shakin so hard her teeth chattered together and he was liable to join in with her. Instead he planted a hand over her mouth, her teeth biting into the flesh of his fingers from her shakes. He just clenched it tighter bout her, feeling the fragile plates of bones moving beneath the skin, and choked the sound back. "Shut your gorram trap," he warned, trying to make his voice as ugly as possible as he pressed them both into the dust. He was wearin browns and she's dressed in peacock blues; in the part of his mind that could still rationalize, he hoped, somehow, he was covering her up. Makin them both invisible. She was just cryin now, the hiccups silent, just the feel of them bucking her spine into his chest. He petted her hair, wrists weak.
"We're gonna get out of this," he promised, and she nodded, hiding her face in the curve of his elbow. "They've got to much fun..." She choked on that and he continued, merciless, "to come chasin after two stragglers and I wont.." He drew a pistol from it's holster and presseed it to her temple, gentle like. It shuddered against her skin; he couldn't keep his hands steady enough unless he ground the barrel into her flesh and maybe even then... "Won't come nowhere near you, girl," and she nodded again, fitfully. "I won't let no one touch you." It was all the comfort he could give and he whispered it soft in her ear till he was hoarse.
It's hours til the screamin stopped, til the only sound is the wind in the grass, and it's deafening. He can't get his hands to stop shaking enough to pick up the radio, so Kaylee does it, whispering. He thinks it's the loudest she can talk. Wash zeroes in on them, a tangle of limbs cause Kaylee's half crawled on him, clinging, her fingers bitin into the flesh of his arms and he's fucked up, but not enough that he can't savor it a little, find comfort in hangin on to her too. They hardly have time to stand before Mal is flingin himself out the doors, all but carrying Kaylee inside. It's physically difficult to untangle their fingers; he still can't figure how to unbend from the gun barrel. The Preacher lead him inside by the elbow, the metal still clutched in his hands, and they left that planet in a burst of engine fire.
He caught Mal's eye as they went in- the other man's gazestill stuck on the gun and when he lifts it, there's a sort of desperate, depressing thanks. Kaylee don't talk, don't stop shiverin really. She nods sometimes when Mal says somethin to her, and jumps at every footstep. Mal takes a vigil in her bunk, sleepin on the floor while she lies there in the dark, doped up so her eyes can close. He breaks open a cask of ale for Jayne before he goes, trying to hold his eyes as he gives him a glass. "You done a mighty good job today, Jayne."
Jayne's eyes stay fixed on Mal's collarbones, but he nods, and his fingers start to unbend, the pistol clattering to the floor, enough to startle them both. Those muscles will be cramping for days; he doesn't care. "Goodnight Mal," he mutters, to the man's jumping pulse, and takes his first swig.
They open a keg of whiskey and everyone drinks, even Zoe who doesn t have a taste for alcohol or Inara who s tastes are too fine for theirs. Wash has a shot and gets even more loose-tongued then usual, Book drinks his thoughtfully, and with the sort of familiarity that Jayne continues to find unnerving in a preacher. They even let River have some, though Simon threatens to pitch a fit. But Kaylee, Jayne thinks with some pride, drinks as good as any man. Drink makes her sweeter, if possible, adds extra bells to her laugh and glow to her cheeks and she's...
Shiny.
Simon gets more twitchy as she has another two glasses, no where near the lead he and Mal have taken in draining the keg dry, but she s do her fair share of the damage. Maybe if the Doc hadn t made her mad she woulda laughed off his worries, but instead she jerks away sternly, and steals the liquor lingering in Jayne s cup. He sneers at the Doc and pours her more, smile threatenin to tug the corners of his lips into a smile, sincere as he makes em, when she grabs his arm to steady herself and don t let go.
Mid morning and they land on some forsaken-rock, but it s a forsaken rock with a job and none but Wash are hung over. He s bustlin back inside when he catches them in the airlock, standing carefully apart and smilin shy, fingers all twined together. His stomach lurches and he shoulders past, clippin the Doc as he goes and not apologizing , no how, not when his fingers twitch 'gainst his palms and nothin else.
It'd be easier if he just had sex dreams about her, and he does; those are mighty fine. But he has other ones too.
One s where she just slinks into the bed, still wearing her jumpsuit smelling like grease and oil and metal parts and kisses him sleepily on the nose and says goodnight Jayne. Sweetly, like it's more then just his name and she just closes her eyes and snuggles up next to him and he wakes up holding his pillow tight, or worse even, his arms aching cause there s nothing in em to hold.
She smiles at him across the breakfast table then and he hates her so much.
Everything in the engine room was spinning too fast, the copper and gold glinting savagely as wires sparked and things smoked and flamed. It smelled like gunpowder and grease, the harsh tang of metal, and gave Jayne the sense that they should cut and run, except there was Kaylee, tearing about fairy-quick in the center of the fray, making him feel near about completely useless.
"I told the Captain I needed help," she spat over her shoulder, trying stop the progress of one of the machines loops; gorram if Jayne knew what it did, this beast was beyond him.
"Well here I am."
She spared a second to quirk an eyebrow at him, pert mouth set in a grim little line that said, clear as day, What-help-could-you-be? before something else exploded, drawing her attention.
He waded through the smoke to crouch at her side, large fingers fumbling hesitantly to hers. "I can do anything you ask," he promised, halting but deathly serious, and meaning it in so many ways. "Just tell me how."