"Way back," Jayne said, offhandedly one day, after they'd just been arrested on a simple little job "I had a what's it called, like great-grandparents but further back-"

"Ancestors." Mal didn't even look up, staring intently at a very interesting wall of the jail they were both being held in, while they waited for the others to turn up, bust them out, that kind of thing. "They're called ancestors."

"Yeah, well, an' I had one who was a what's it called?"

"I really wouldn't know, Jayne, why don't you figure that out before starting a gorram conversation?"

"Sheesh, Mal, no need to get snarky is there?" the mercenary type grumbled.

The captain rolled over on the hard stone floor "I think there's very good need for it," his tone bitter, annoyed at being caught on such a simple job.

"Just tryna, you know, lighten the mood." Jayne shrugged. "Pass the time, like."

"Next time you get that urge, kindly go gun hoe-tze bee dio-se, you understand?"

A few moments awkward silence passed between them, before Jayne started to speak again. "Anyway, I had an ancestor..."

"So did a mighty large number of folks…"

"...who was one of those guys who used to break into people's dreams." Mal shot him a disdainful look "I did! I swear on...on-" his mind whirred, searching for something believable, something that would make Mal would trust his word. "I swear on Vera, Mal, I'm bein' serious here."

"An extractor," Mal said after a moment's thought. "Jayne, I hate to break it to you, but extractors ain't real. I'm strugglin' to believe you had ancestors who weren't brother an' sister, let alone mystical gorram dream thieves."

"Aw come on! I ain't even finished! Do you see anythin' else to do around here 'cept wait?"

Mal sighed "Go on then, tell me, Jayne, what happened to your altogether fascinatin' and presumably entirely fictional ancestor?"

"He was the only one to ever do in- inces-" Please thought Malcolm Reynolds, knowing full well what Jayne was trying to say, say incestion. Make my day. "Inception." Well that's just a damn shame. "Puttin' an idea inside someone else's head instead as stealin' ones they already had. Dom Cobb, he was called. We got photos, big old family album. Heh." Something seemed to occur to Jayne "His wife was called Mal."

"Yeah? Well, why don't you get your famous dead ancestor and summon him here, we could do with him to poke around in our crazy girl River's funny little head."

"No way," Jayne shook his head "No ruttin' way. You don't wanna see what kind of crazy's in there. You just don't."

"Jayne, shiny though that story was, you think we oughta concentrate on gettin' ready for yet another darin' escape?"

Jayne shrugged "They ain't here yet. My ma, she gave me an heirloom, handed down the generations." Rifling through his pockets, he pulled out a scratched and grubby ancient spinning top, all the way from Earth-that-was, dirty with the fingermarks of many little children to whom it had been given on their birthday, with the threat of a beating if they lost it. With a look of intense concentration, he spat on his sleeve and wiped it down. "Look," he brandished it proudly "In a dream, it's 'sposed to spin forever." Fingers fumbling, he tried to demonstrate on the floor of the prison, but wound up dropping it twice. "'sposed to anyway."

Outside, there was an explosion, and Mal sat up abruptly. "That sounds like our ride." He picked up the spinning top and looked at it. It was a funny little thing, made of an odd, dark material, and even if the story wasn't true, it had come a long way. Handing it back to Jayne's waiting palm, he got to his feet.

"Here. Guess this means a lot to you."

"Naw, it's just a dumb story," the other man sounded almost embarrassed, but he couldn't shake the look of pride on his face when he got the spinning top back, slipping it surreptitiously back into his pocket, feeling as though somewhere back, someone in his family had done something special. "I ain't much of a father type. I dunno what I'm gonna do with it."

Mal shrugged. "Give it to Kaylee, she's bound to be poppin' one out soon, the rate her and Simon are at it."

"Or Zoë an' Wash."

"You think she's the type? For kids? Zoë?"

Jayne shrugged "Got a feelin'."

"Of course you do," Mal smiled. "Well. Shall we?"

Jayne nodded. And they stepped away from the exterior wall just as the aforementioned Zoë Washburne sent it up in smithereens.