The Hole in the 'verse

An alternative Firefly story

Rating: PG-13, for violence and mild cursing

Summary: AU fic. Wash is alive and almost well, Serenity's got more cargo, but there's something missing from the "Happily ever after" equation: Simon got left behind. What happens now?

Disclaimer: I own two new F Paul Wilson books and a cell phone. That's really pretty much it. Definitely not Firefly, Serenity, or the people/charries in 'em.

Author's Notes: Please review. I like reviews. They make me happy. I promise I'll respond if you do. –nod-

The Book of JAYNE

part 3

A shudder wracked his body. Simon felt his skin itching with the need to be free, but his upbringing and pride forced him to remain calm and rational. But they were so cruel! He had no idea how Wash could stand them. Simon nervously patted the horrifically loud blue and yellow button-down shirt and tried to look like a tourist.

The shirt did aid in the illusion, though Simon had no idea why standing out would make him hide in better. The soft khaki pants and loafers were at least comfortable, if not something he would normally wear. He could even understand the sunglasses and hat because they hid his face—though the hat not quite so much, for he took pride in his well-kempt hair. It was the damned shirt that didn't make any sense, but it was all that the store had stocked besides "I went to Osiris and all I got was this stupid T-shirt" shirts. Simon couldn't even fathom what sort of a moon-brained monster could conceive of such an idiotic piece of apparel, so he suffered the slightly dressier—or at least collared—Hawaiian shirt. It would be proudly passed on to Serenity's pilot without a smidgeon of guilt.

Once he could ignore the injustice of it all, and Simon swallowed his pride to examine himself in the mirror, he could honestly admit that he didn't recognize himself. The disguise had even passed the "walking around in public" test, because no one had stopped to slap him on the back yet. He thought he might be able to stand looking gaudy and underdressed for a day or two. Maybe. With showers.

He contemplated going into a former favorite haunt of his while he had been a practicing surgeon, but quickly squashed the idea. Because Simon was now so very unrecognizable as a well-to-do member of Capital City, the people inside would have alternately shunned and scrutinized him: an attention that he didn't care for. And if he entered the same haunt as the self-assured Dr. Simon Tam, he would have been arrested as a fugitive. It was a very good thing that he knew of a few lenient places where he could get some decent food. There were credits in his pocket, and there were worse places to get stuck on than Osiris. He could make the best of this.

Snuggled in amongst the tall sky rises and tucked away from the busy street was The Hub. It was a respectable place for lower class citizens, and a place that none of Simon's old buddies would touch with a ten-foot pole. Because of that, it wasn't entirely necessary for Simon to keep the hat and sunglasses on, but he did for the sake of argument. The chances of meeting someone was slim, but Simon could recall a few instances where he had wandered in with an entourage of rowdy and exuberant medical students. When he seated himself, he did remove the hat out of courtesy.

"Welcome to The Hub, what can I get you, sir?" a waitress asked.

"The special, please," Simon asked softly. He smiled a bit, allowing the sunglasses to give him an air of blankness.

"Sure. Would you like anything to drink?"

"Water. Just water."

"Right away, sir."

Simon, for the first time in awhile, allowed himself to relax. He could remember a time when he'd been at ease in Capital City, but a lot of things had changed since then. River, for one; his parents, for another. In fact, the one thing that hadn't changed was the city itself: Capital City was exactly as he remembered it. It was that nearly overwhelming feeling of nostalgia that aided the slow release of his anxiety as Simon waited on his food. It was almost…dare he say, pleasant?

The food, when it came, was beef. He almost grinned childishly and laughed aloud, but he stubbornly refused to taste it until after the waitress had left. He hadn't had proper food—Beef!—in ages. Sure, he had sampled protein in every conceivable shape and colour in the 'verse, but real meat was a rare commodity on a ship like Serenity. A nice steak well done…it made Simon giddy. Maybe getting left on Osiris wasn't so bad after all…

A light hand alighted on Simon's shoulder and squeezed it tentatively. "Are you Simon Tam?"

His eyes widened. "Uh…no, no I'm not-"

"Are you sure? I'm pretty sure it looked like you when you walked in here—"

Oh no, please, no, no, no! He didn't want to speak, he knew every word he spoke was giving him away more thoroughly and this was going to end very, very badly. Simon took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. "I'm not who you're looking for. I'm here on vacation from—" He thought quickly. "—Londinum, and—"

"But they have better fashion than that in Londinum. Could you please turn around and let me see you?"

Simon winced as the person squeezed his shoulder again. "I haven't paid."

"Don't worry about that, Mr. Tam."

He'd run out of ideas. Short of turning around and punching whoever it was in the jaw, he was sunk. Judging by the hold on his shoulder and the voice, it would have been very rude to try and punch a girl and would have earned him more trouble than it was worth. He stood up slowly, so as to seem as important and untouchable as possible, and turned around.

He stopped breathing.

"Di I-…wha wazzinit?" Jayne slurred. His eye cracked open tentatively, but the effort it had taken to do that seemed to cause a small avalanche of pain to roll from a small point on his forehead to engulf his entire skull. "Choum'niao, why'z m'eadhurt s'gormmuch?" he groaned.

"Zoë knocked you out," a feminine voice answered wryly. "Try not to move, it'll only hurt worse."

"Uh?"

Inara shook her head. "You disobeyed Mal, so he shot you. When you didn't fall over, Zoë hit you in the head with her gun. You're probably in a bit of pain."

"Welllllll, yeah," he groaned.

"Then don't move. I can't fix you as well as Simon can. You don't want to pop your stitches and I don't want to have to sew you up again—" Jayne ignored her tirade and sat up anyway. He didn't stay upright for long; an animal cry issued from his throat and all but collapsed back into the chair. That last effort, having been more than twice what it had taken to just open his eyes, had left his whole body weak, shaky, and soaked in sweat. "Why ain't I drugged?" he gasped out.

"Because we didn't know how hard Zoë hit you, and whether or not you were concussed. Are you nauseous or dizzy?" Inara asked calmly.

"Yeah, from th'gorram pain!"

"Jayne, I can't give you anything until I know you aren't going to die from it."

"Fine, no I ain't," he snapped. His head and shoulder still hurt like hell, but he was beginning to be able to keep track of his words and not slur so badly. He was also starting to remember why he got knocked out. "What 'appened? What wazzin th'box?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Inara remarked. Her voice was flat, distasteful.

"Sure there is, I opened it."

"You gave Mal enough to worry about, Jayne."

"What wazzinit?" he snapped. Again, pain saturated his head, neck, and shoulder, and this time he almost passed out from the new intensity of achiness. Thankfully, it didn't lessen the threatening nature of the question, and Inara looked taken aback.

"I'm not telling you unless you promise not to do anything more than let me give you meds after you find out," Inara said sharply.

"Guess I'll find out my own self," Jayne grunted. Now that he knew what he was up against, he took care to get up slowly and avoid any unnecessarily quick movements.

"Jayne!"

"No, 'nara, I'm findin' out what I opened 'n got shot fer." He forced eyes to narrow, blanking the world down to a small circle directly in front of him. The less he paid attention to, the less it seemed to hurt. Jayne heaved himself off the seat with his good arm, his bad one tucked close to his chest. When his eyes stopped crossing, Jayne thought he vaguely recognized the cool blues of the infirmary. If he was right, there would definitely be some form of some promising pain medicines hidden in a drawer somewhere. Jayne took the knowledge and metaphorically ran with it; he shuffled over to the bank of drawers that contained all the needles and pills and salves he could ever hope for.

The words on the first needle were blurry, not that Jayne had time to read them anyway. If he didn't act quickly, he really would pass out from the pain. It looked enough like the stuff that the doctor always injected them with when they were injured that Jayne found he didn't much care. He tore it out of the sterile plastic wrapping and stabbed the point into his bicep. Considering the now roaring pain from the shot in his shoulder, he barely felt the prick at all. After pushing the plunger and yanking the needle out again, he had to stop and catch his breath against the counter. His eyes slipped closed.

The first thing he was truly aware of was sound. Originally, all he could hear was a dull static overwhelmed by fuzz with a side smattering of human voices. Now, he was pretty sure he could make out Inara's worried voice griping and yelling at him. She also noticed a slight pressure on his left arm, but not much more than that. It was when he was nearly fell to the floor that he realized she must having been yanking his arm, trying to get him to follow her. The second thing he realized was the fact that his arm was definitely numb. Even his headache seemed to be defogging. He tentatively opened his eyes again and heaved a sigh of relief.

Jayne stubbornly didn't wait to feel completely cured before he shrugged Inara off and stumbled into the cargo bay. The box he had successfully opened was still there and waiting for him. It was no longer smoking, but Jayne didn't mind. The pyrotechnics were probably just for show, anyway, so what was a little fog when it came to knowing what was in the boxes? He picked his pace up to a rolling jog and almost wound up having to catch himself on the edge of the box. There was an uncomfortable pressure in his shoulder, but it no longer mattered. There was nothing but Jayne Cobb and the contents of his box.

Of course, when he saw it was empty, it sure felt nice to have something to pound angrily on.

"Yeh-soo, ta ma duh...where'd he put it?" Jayne hissed. He growled angrily, turning abruptly on his heel and stomping towards the far end of the bay again. He didn't even care about the other two boxes anymore, just the one that he himself had opened. He took the stairs, intending to have a heart-to-fist chat with Mal. Given his current state of injury, blood loss and drug intoxication, the climb took a bit longer than usual. By the time he got up to the catwalk so that he could get to the main hallway of Serenity, he couldn't help but feel a little off balance.

The mercenary stumbled up to the bridge, having to drag himself up the last few stairs with nothing but his iron will to keep him going and a hard grip on the railing to keep him from falling over. Unfortunately, his luck seemed to have run out on all fronts: he cursed long and hard when he realized that there wasn't a soul tending the ship. The only explanation that Jayne could think of was that everyone was hiding from him. They were having fun at his expense. The only evidence to the contrary consisted of the cruiser still hanging ominously in the black like a dangerous child's toy. If it had been a joke, Jayne would have thought that Mal had had sense enough to put the cargo back where it came from and have done with it. Unless…unless Mal had hid it from Jayne where the rest of Serenity's cargo usually went…

Jayne didn't have the heart to lurch down a full flight of stairs again. He needed sustenance: Something to take the edge off the painkillers that may or may not have been painkillers. The important thing was that he needed a clear head; and he was quite a ways away from anything vaguely resembling a caboose, let alone an entire train of thought. Jayne would wait the fog out in the mess, and then check the bay again in half an hour. The only flaw in the plan was the set of stairs that were the only way off the bridge. The mercenary grit his teeth, and clutched the railing in a white-knuckled fist.

It didn't keep him from falling flat on his face, but it did save Jayne from an even higher fall. It took a moment for him to regain his footing and recover enough to stagger down the long hallway. Jayne wasn't sure—it could have been the repressed pain that was playing horrible tricks on his mind—but he quite thought that there were voices coming from the open door of the dining area. It would be several missteps and a brave catch against the frame of the airlock before Jayne would find out that there were an awful lot of people in the room. There were more, in fact, than he could remember as being passengers on Serenity. He could see Wash and Zoë from his awkward vantage point, as well as Mal, but there were three others whom he didn't know that were also seated at the table. They even looked to be clothed in garments that he had previously seen on Mal and Wash and Inara. To say that Jayne was confused was an understatement.

"Uh, Mal…who're these go tsao de gao yang jong duh goo yang?" the mercenary asked darkly. His left hand was unconsciously snaking towards the gun at his hip, his other hand having been employed to keeping him upright. Nevertheless, he was ready to draw at two moments' notice—even if the new people would have had their guns out already if they'd really intended harm. Jayne could only surmise that they might not have counted on being surprised; he couldn't even tell if they had guns with their hands hidden under the table.

"These…? These goo yangs? Jayne, you should be ashamed. Them is the folk you tried to very hard to save. You should apologize; ain't proper to draw on people just got themselves so rudely woke up. Weren't even their fault."

"Mal?" Jayne's eyes grew wide and hurt. "What the hell—? These ain't our crew."

"No, they ain't. Them's come from the box you pried open. This is Alex, Frances 'n Caleb. You saved 'em from a right hard life."

"What?" His bewilderment was enough to effectively startle him away from any and all thoughts of shooting anyone. Jayne knew things weren't right. There was clearly some vital clue that he'd missed, judging by the excessive smugness in Mal's expression. However, Jayne was having a very bad day, and he was not in the mood to play games. "Mal, yer outta yer head."

"Not at all. Not in the slight. Alex—" Mal bent his head at a rough man who had seen far too much work in his lifetime. Alex looked older and far more weathered than any prune Jayne had ever seen. "—'n his wife 'n son were sent to Persephone as slaves. Them's grateful ta you, want nothin' more'n ta say thanks."

The boy—Caleb—glanced up, meeting Jayne's eyes with a sad, grey-eyed little stare. It was unsettling on every conceivable level, forcing the mercenary to turn away first. His skin was effectively crawling and he felt an overpowering need to fidget.

"So…uh…they was in the box?" he mumbled, staring very intently at the floor.

"They was in the box. What, you suddenly ain't so interested in the can a worms you opened up, brung down on our heads?"

Jayne's head jerked upwards to glare at Mal angrily, though he did begin to regret the movement when the room began spinning in an unnatural manner. He hadn't fallen over though—and he stubbornly refused to—but he was not about to relinquish his hold on the doorframe. "No, Mal, you brung it down!" he snapped. "I didn't want this job. Too many if's 'n stuff in it. Weren't none of us wanted this job just so's the little man could fly again!"

"Jayne, BEE-jway." Mal's eyes were dark, like chips of amethyst. "You ain't mentionin' that again, dong ma? We're doin' the job for more than Wash—"

"Mal, you don't need to fight my battles for me," the pilot said quietly. "I know why we're doing the job. Don't protect me." He still looked bitter, but it was no longer the irrational anger it had been in the beginning. Wash didn't normally allow Jayne's commentary to bother him, having gotten plenty of practice before. However, Jayne hadn't completely spoken his peace.

"Just cause he can't duck a ruttin' Reaver spike don't mean—"

"Jayne, you're walkin' away from this table now," Mal said coldly. The captain was notorious for not raising his voice, but it was quite obvious when he was mad. Mal was very, very angry, judging by the fierce clenching of his fists and the slight tremble of overstrained muscles. On the outside, though, he still appeared to be calm and very cool. Jayne himself was on the verge of backing down, but the injustices of being shot at, beaten up and ignored were overwhelming what little existed of his rational mind. His lips thinned as his own eyes got hard.

"Mal, I am tired a walkin' away cuz you said so. I wanna know what you plan on doin' with these slave folk—"

The chair slid violently away from the table and Wash was on Jayne before the mercenary could finish his sentence. The smaller man had Jayne by the throat and drove him back into the dining area and against the wall. With his trachea being methodically squeezed by Wash's new arm, Jayne found that the only thing he could concentrate on was the collective gasp from the box people.

"It's all about you, isn't it, Jayne? Well, some of us are tired of your selfishness. Sometimes, BUN tyen-shung duh ee-DWAY-RO, other people come first," Wash hissed.

"It ain't always about me!" Jayne gasped out. He managed to wrestle one of Wash's arms away, but his weak shoulder was beginning to give out. He couldn't hold Wash's attack forever and the blackness beginning to press in on his vision was a very good indication of how long he was going to last.

"Wash, let him go," Mal said softly.

"Sir, I'm not done teaching him a lesson," Wash said coldly. His fingers were digging in deeper and deeper. Jayne wasn't quite sure whether he was going to make it through this encounter. He had always thought he'd go down because of a well-aimed bullet; the current scenario discouraged him greatly.

"I understand that, Wash, but his concerns are valid. He wants to know what we're going with our cargo; I'll give him a straight answer."

Wash didn't look thrilled about the arrangement, but he did let Jayne go eventually. The oxygen flooding his lungs was enough of a shock. He much rued the absence of the frame or a railing and was left leaning against the wall clutching at his bruised throat. Jayne shot Wash a dirty look, before glancing back at Mal. His voice was hoarse when he could finally articulate words.

"What're we getting' fer these ruttin' people? Not near enough, I'll bet."

"No, we ain't. We ain't turnin' em in," Mal replied coolly.

Jayne's jaw dropped. "Mal, you ain't serious."

"Why wouldn't I be serious? We ain't turnin' live folk over as slaves."

"Mal, the only gorram reason we're doing this is cuz we're s'pposed to get paid fer it," Jayne yelled. It was immediately followed by a coughing fit that caused Jayne to regret every moment that it didn't stop or didn't make him die. He was, however grateful that it did stop, if not in a timely fashion, because nothing got between Jayne and his rightful payoff. After all the fei hua that had happened recently, Jayne wanted to live richly, not pick up more useless crewmembers. He wasn't even sure that there were enough bunks to go around, assuming that Mal was planning to free the rest of their luckless cargo. Knowing Mal, it wasn't an unreasonable assumption.

"I expect to be paid, even if them's gotta make it so." Jayne pointed viciously at the cowering family as he said it, causing the boy to whimper in fear.

"Jayne, stand down."

"No, Mal—"

"I said stand down!" The captain's cool demeanour was gone, replaced by a man who was not to be argued with. It was something Jayne had only seen the captain do once before. Last time, Mal had threatened to throw Jayne out into the black with naught but his clothes. Now that Jayne saw the hard blue gaze leveled at him for the second time…Jayne wasn't so sure what would happen. He wisely began creeping towards the doorway with his hands spread wide, watching the captain warily. Jayne wasn't going to get away with violence, but he wasn't happy about it.

"I hope yer still lockin' yer door at night. Little sister might not be so bloodthirsty no more, but I sure as hell am lookin' fer a little compensation fer the bullet I got from yer gorram captainin'."

Mal drew his pistol slowly, letting Jayne see every languid movement of well-toned muscles. The captain gestured with the muzzle towards the front of the ship, where Jayne's bunk was located. No words had to be exchanged, and as he looked down the barrel of Mal's gun, Jayne suddenly didn't feel like arguing anymore. He wasn't of the opinion that he had anything more to say, anyway. So Jayne turned around and walked away.

Chinese:

Choum'niao (Chou ma niao): Stinking horse urine

Yeh-soo, ta ma duh…: Jesus mother of jumped up…

go tsao de: dog humping

gao yang jong duh goo yang: motherless goat of all motherless goats

goo yangs: motherless goats

BUN tyen-shung duh ee-DWAY-RO: Stupid, inbred stack of meat

Honour Roll: Lynx Ryder: I don't know about giving up on it, I just know I need inspiration. And to find the notebook that had the last chapter in it. Thanks for the encouragement though! –grin- BlueEyedBrigadier: Jayne sometimes forgets who's captain of this boat so Mal needs to remind him every once in awhile. As for Kaylee's investigation…well…-cough- It'll be action packed. –nod-