Title: Breaking Stasis
Disclaimer: Joss is boss!
A/N #2: Yes, this chapter has been updated. Even after posting I still wasn't happy with this guy so I went back and fleshed it out quite a bit. It's much longer and while no reader is under any obligation to read it again I humbly suggest it :) Thanks to jjmjmay for your advice!
A/N: Nimen hao! I apologize for the delay in posting, I've been traveling and as a result have a serious case of a jet lag and a cold on top of that. Because of that, the chapter is a bit shorter than normal, but I promise I'll make it up to all of you in the next one! :)
As always, thank you to my reviewers, love that people are still discovering and enjoying this little story. Big thank you especially to those of you that have reviewed multiple times. You all know who you are and your continued support is so, so appreciated. Also, thank you to The Dread One for reading this over!
Crazy was driving him, well, crazy. She was getting worse, or maybe just being more obvious about it. Had a tendency to look at a body with a real vacant look at her eyes, like she weren't even seeing him. Few times Jayne could've sworn she was looking right through him, knew he was there and apparently decided whatever was behind him was a hell of a lot more fascinating than some unwashed gun for hire.
Not gorram likely.
When Book had barely suggested, just in passing really, that there were medications that could help with that sort of thing she'd squealed like a stuck pig and hightailed it out of the mess faster than Jayne could blink. Girl definitely had a pair of legs on her. He couldn't help but laugh at little at the preacher's face, all contrite and worried about upsetting the moonbrain, when the shoe was on the other foot and someone else was setting her off for once.
'Course, it had been less than hilarious when Jayne had caught up with her and she'd already torn the infirmary half apart. Mal had been furious and Jayne had been forced to spend the better part of the day cleaning it up, the medicinal stink that seemed to be embedded in the bulkhead itself reeking worse than niushi. She'd run off too, leaving him to do all the work.
Few days later Wash had stepped out from the cockpit to hit the head, only to come back in a few minutes and find a certain genius – now that was getting more and more debatable each day, to Jayne's way of thinking – burrowing under the console tearing at the wires, hollering about Trojans and livestock. Cap'n had done his best to damn near flay him alive with an impressive combination of Mandarin curses and Rim slang, and Jayne hadn't even tried for a rebuttable fearing he was within about an inch of being spaced.
All of this meant only one thing; he had to keep a closer eye on the girl. He'd been getting real good at ignorin' her the last week or so, not answerin' the fool questions she was always askin', not lookin' at her when he went about his chores or hit the bench. Had been for her own good. He may not be the smartest man in the 'verse, but he could tell she was gettin' attached to him, relyin' on him. In another week or two they'd be on Boros and they'd be partin' ways; they could wash their hands of each other.
Dependin' on him overly much would only hurt her in the long run. She needed to be independent enough to stand on her own, do it without him there to support her when she starting collapsin'. For cryin' out loud, he had sprung her nekkid from a cryo box, shouldn't a tiancai like her know not to trust him?
She should at least be tryin' to put some distance between them like he was. And if he'd felt lonely for the first time in years without her to talk to, if he'd missed the dopey smiles she gave him, then it was all to the good. Meant he was in too deep, that was for sure.
Fat lot of good it had all done anyway; he'd tried to stop thinkin' on her and she'd gone and made that just about impossible if he wanted to leave Serenity with all of his parts intact.
Now he was trying to find where she'd scampered off to, again. He wouldn't be able to give her a proper telling off either, since even though she didn't seem to pay no mind to Mal's tirades she had just about lost it the last time Jayne had threatened her with what he had felt was very admirable restraint. Cried and hid in one of those concealed hidey-holes in the bay while Kaylee had bitten his head off for being a rotten hundan. Like he'd ever pretended to be anything else!
Thankfully the girl wasn't stowed away in the engine room somewhere; that would have been a treat. He found her in his bunk in the passenger dorm, curled up against the wall where he sometimes sat. Seemed like since he wasn't about to hold her she trying to hold onto herself, her arms wrapped around her legs, hands gripping her elbows.
"Girl?" She didn't look up, so he tried again. "Moony?"
For some reason that seemed to get her attention. "Many moons in the 'verse, which one is hers?"
"Shoot, I dunno." He rubbed his hand across his face roughly, ruffling his hair, and collapsed onto the only chair in the Spartan room.
He was uncomfortable, she could see it in his wake as rough winds disturbed his course. His hand was struggling to hold the tiller steady; soon the boom would swing and if he wasn't careful it could sweep him overboard. "He wants her to leave," she whispered and started to crawl from the bed.
Shit, who knew what she'd get her paws on if she wandered off again. "No, it's okay."
Hesitating, his waters defying all laws of physics in their illogical turbulence, she stopped. "No?"
"No." He leaned back in the chair, shifting his weight as the hard, synthetic wood of the seat dug into his tailbone. Great, now what was he supposed to do? Looking around the room, he tried to think of something that would at least keep her occupied for a minute or two. Coming up blank, he fought the awkwardness that was welling up within him. He was not some idiot teenager, he was a grown ass man and could have a grown ass conversation any time he damn well felt like it. "So. Moons, huh?"
Sinking back into her former position like a cat onto its haunches, she nodded. "It's what he calls her."
"Yeah." Tried to think of some brilliant comment to say, but only one thing came to mind. He didn't like to talk on it, not at all, but weren't like she was in position to tell anyone. Hell, she'd probably forget soon as she walked out of here. "I'm from a moon, you know. Asgard."
"Asgard. Second moon of Constance. Mineral rich, average temperature 258.95 Kelvin, -15.2 Celsius."
"Cold enough to damn near freeze your balls off," he snorted.
"Osiris is very temperate, she has never seen snow." She was calmer now. Not subdued exactly, but kinda like content in her own skin. Somehow it made him calmer too.
"Overrated anyway."
"Out of the bosom of the Air, out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken," she recited dreamily.
He tried not to think on the images bosoms conjured, much more substantial than air. With a mental groan he fought to maintain his self-discipline, lasting about five seconds tops before he gave up. The past few days had been hard enough while trying to keep his thoughts away from her and his mind out of the gutter, if he was going to have to spend this time with her wouldn't hurt to let it wallow a little.
Just had this last job, then Boros. He just had to keep her from falling apart till then.
"Such is the cross I wear upon my breast these eighteen years, through all the changingscenes." Her mind had jumped to another memory, another verse.
Leaning back in the seat, he didn't bother to hide his smirk. That was good poetry.
"Jayne, are they still on the train? Are they gonna be okay?"
Kaylee's anxious voice cut through the some of the pain and he turned to snarl at her. "Still down there, probably got pinched by the Feds for all I know. Did you not fuckin' hear the part where they shot my gorram leg?"
Stepping closer behind Kaylee, River's bare feet made no sound as she moved across the deck. She cocked her head to the side, crouching down beside him as she stared at his injury. Rivulets of blood were streaming out from underneath his palms and fingers, staining the bay below. Entranced she watched as droplets escaped his grasp to splash on the growing puddle that was forming. What did Serenity think, how did she feel to know that it was the life of one of her own that spilled out? Surely she knew that this was not some dastardly Fed, not some trespassing bandit. Painting the metal red, marking the vessel with his choleric temperament. Caught up in her distracted mind she told him dreamily, "Your humors are leaking."
He grunted a little, glaring over at her. "Oh, ain't that nice. Don't mind Jayne, he's just leakin'. Last time I get shot for this ruttin' crew."
Before she could answer, Book had joined them and he bent down to help Jayne to his feet. Throwing the merc's arm over his shoulders, the Shepherd staggered a little as the bigger man leant heavily on him. "Let's get you to the infirmary. I'm no surgeon, but I'll help as I can." The pair shuffled away slowly, moving like participants in some kind of macabre three legged race as Jayne put as little weight onto his injured leg as he possibly could.
Watching their retreating forms, River struggled to collect her thoughts. His emotions had been harsh, sharp and spiky and cutting across her senses to leave them in a tangled mess. Coppery pain, streaky anger stinking of rust, all encrusted with the acrid yellow burns of self-pity. After only being able to discern flashes of muddled emotions from him for so long, she was almost shaken by the sudden ferocity of the onslaught.
His colors shook his mind like an earthquake, violent tremors that rattled his thoughts from focused epicenters. They were on the forefront on his cranium as the source of his agitation, his frustration. Mal and another poorly planned job, getting him shot again… a severe, older man reeking of malice and malevolence… Alliance soldiers, always meddling and interfering where they didn't belong. She took a step back involuntarily when she identified the last focal point. Her own face, looking down at him with slightly unfocused pupils, gumming up the works without even giving any gorram sympathy.
Like a solar flare, she caught one of his thoughts at it burst from his consciousness. Women anyway.
She knew that he'd been upset with her recently; she'd been upset with herself as well. Every morning, the minute she woke up, she tried to hold her frayed edges together, drawing them up and gathering them close until she could carry the burden. But some days it was just so hard, and lately it seemed like it was getting harder. Like her needlepoint had been caught and the yarn was being pulled back through her careful stitches, slipping away as she lost one color at a time. Yesterday had been better, somehow, but at the moment she couldn't quite remember why. She'd added more threads, alternating joyously between the Petit point and the Gobelin stitch. And now she was losing the pretty picture again before she could even realize what she had been stitching.
As she hurried after them she had never felt less like a genius in her life. Would she always lose the tenuous control of her facilities when he needed her most? Would anyone be able to accept her as she was, a jumbled collection of broken parts that could no longer be assembled as a whole?
She paused for a minute, sternly shaking her head to put an end to that line of thinking. Asking the painful questions that she already knew the answers to was not going to help her, to help Jayne. Blessed clarity had returned; manna in the desert. Now it was time to focus.
Smiling wryly, she continued for the infirmary. As best as she could, anyway.
"Gorram it, let's get us moving!"
Somehow maintaining his ever present calm, Book replied tranquilly, "I still have quite a bit more to do here."
Turning his gaze from the Shepherd that was working patiently on his leg he sneered at Wash who was leaning against the countertop in the corner, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "Why are you parked here? This ain't the go tsao de rendezvous point."
"It is now," the pilot answered tersely. Every muscle in his arms was tensed and engaged as he struggled to control his panic. River could feel the anxiety rolling off the man like smoke, smelling like fading sunlight and Zoe.
Even though Book was still packing the wound with gauze and antibiotics, in his frustration Jayne struggled to rise from the gurney. River grabbed a hold of his left hand tightly, holding it securely between her two smaller, weaker ones and hoping that he wouldn't pull away. He needed to hold still for the Shepherd to do his work; attention within the first hour following a gunshot wound was critical in order to prevent infection. More than that, he needed to find his serenity. His colors were so intense and violent that she was starting to develop a migraine behind her eyes, the pressure within his own mind must be intolerable.
Stupid kid. What the hell did she think she was doing? Jayne was still pissed at what she'd said earlier, acting like him taking a bullet to the leg was no more than a gorram stroll through the Skyplex. See how she'd like it if she got shot, doubt she'd still be spouting that same gose.
He was about to yank his hand away from her grasp when a thought occurred to him with a wince. Sure, she hadn't been shot, most like, but she might as well have been. Needles in the brain had to hurt a sight worse than a bit of lead. Weren't like he hadn't been shot before. Hell, he'd stopped counting his scars ages ago, after the first dozen or so it had lost its appeal. But she'd been just a girl then, hadn't had anyone to bitch to about it neither. And if this would help her settle down…
Jayne was staring at her. Whatever Book had given Jayne was helping with the pain as the harsh red gradually faded out, but wherever it receded the yellow grew to take its place. Rubbing her thumbs gently across the back of his hand, she tried to comfort him. "He needs to take care of himself. His job is done, did what no one else could," she said to him in a low voice.
A heaviness that had hitherto been undetected was lifted from her chest, a weight from her heart, as the yellow began to dissolve its entrenched hold. Like waves upon the shore, withdrawing to rest upon some distant sand. "Was some damn thrillin' heroics," he agreed, curling up the corner of his mouth.
"Please don't get shot again," she whispered and he fought to suppress the grin that threatened to make itself known. That was more like it! Weren't a man in the 'verse what didn't appreciate the concern of a good woman now and again and Jayne figured he was long overdue. Still, couldn't let River distract him. No matter how big her eyes were, how they looked the exact color of whiskey in this light. How soft her little hands were as she held onto him.
Wash was giving him a funny look, so he did his best to bluster his way out of the situation without actually letting go of her. He laughed and slapped Book on the back with his free hand. "Shiny drugs, preacher, what the hell is in 'em?"
Pursing his lips Book knew this was not the time for a lecture on blasphemy and he held his tongue.
Redirecting his attention, Jayne scowled at Wash. "That's 'cause people are waitin', they ain't partial to waitin'."
"Let 'em read a magazine. We don't make the sale until Mal and Zoe are back on the boat." While still sarcastic, his tone was firm and his face set.
"These are stone killers, little man. They ain't cuddly like me."
"I'm not flying anywhere without my wife." Wash unfolded his arms, bracing them on the counter behind him.
Kaylee searched the faces around the infirmary nervously, the tense atmosphere making her feel even more anxious. "She'll be okay. She's with the cap'n."
"There, you see? Everyone wins." Jayne wanted to lunge for Wash again, but those little hands held him in place.
"What about the authorities?" Book questioned quietly. "If Jayne was shot by a Fed, stands to reason they'll come looking for a certain stolen cargo currently parked indiscreetly in the bay."
"They buzz this canyon, we'll hear them long before they ever see us. I figure we're good for…"
"Won't stop, won't ever stop." River didn't even realize she'd spoken until she noticed the crew staring at her. The words rolled off her tongue unbidden; once they started she couldn't stop them. The Alliance buzzing the canyon, the very rocks of the earth vibrating, thundering with their power and intent. The icy tendrils of the Academy, dormant for so long, started to pull from her brain stem through the ruined waste of her amygdala. "They'll just keep coming until they get back what you took. Two by two, hands of blue. Two by two, hands of blue."
Her voice was doing that wavering thing, getting kinda high pitched like she was gonna lose it. Not again, always did have zui hao de timing. He squeezed his hand gently, waiting for a few perilous moments in uncertainty until her eyes lost the glassy look. Her tiny hands gingerly squeezed back and he congratulated himself for dodging one bullet today at least.
Turning back to Wash and Kaylee, he let his anger flow through into his voice. Who did Wash think he was, trying to tell him what to do? Might know how to fly a ship, but didn't know shit about how these jobs worked, how these men worked. "Now I'm in ruttin' charge here, and I'm tellin' you how it works. We don't get the goods to Niska on time, he'll make meat pies out of the lot of us. And I ain't walkin' into that."
"Is this Adelai Niska you're talking about?" Book glanced up from the wound that he was slowly and painstakingly stitching closed around a weave.
"Now how would a Shepherd know a name like that?" Damn if that man didn't have a card or two up his sleeve he wasn't showing.
"As I've heard it, he made a deal with the Captain. If the Captain's not there to finish it, if Niska finds out he's being held, and may speak as to who hired him-I think we're better off being a little late."
"Yeah? So what if Mal don't show up? What if he gets pinched? We just hide out here forever?"
"What's the alternative?" Book questioned sharply. "If we meet Niska, hand off this cargo without Mal or Zoe as backup, how do you think that could play out? They could seize the ship, search the vessel. What do you think would happen then?"
Narrowing his eyes, Jayne growled, "I can handle a few dumbass thugs."
"And what if there are more than one or two? What if there are three or four men, five, ten? What do you think would happen to River if we got boarded? Bounty or no bounty?"
"Because there's no reason for a bunch of depraved hundans to be interested in a pretty girl unless there's a price on her head," Wash added mockingly, following the Shepherd's line of thought.
Jayne wanted to curse. He wanted to throw anything he could get his hands on across the room, punch that knowing look right off of Wash's smug face. Then maybe punch him again just for the fun of it. But damn it all to hell if the preacher and the pilot weren't right. If this went south, what could happen, the things they could do to her…
Fuckin' shit, dirty motherfuckers even close to her – fuck, fuck, fuck.
He took a deep breath to steady himself, trying not to notice the smile spreading across River's face like she was a gorram mind reader. "Okay, so how do we get Mal and Zoe out?"
Stunned, all Wash could do was gape at him. "Shenme?"
An hour later Jayne sat in the cargo bay waiting for 'Nara's shuttle to finally make its appearance. The rest of the crew had thought up some fancified plan to spring Mal and Zoe from the Feds. Better work too, or else they were all good and humped.
After River telling him incessantly that he shouldn't be standing on his leg, he'd begrudgingly compromised by settling down on one of the crates towards the back of the bay. She'd followed him in here, climbing atop the crate opposite from his to make sure he was doing as she'd ordered. Had a real fierce look on her face, frowning at him like she didn't know she was about as intimidating as a box of kittens. Pretty cute too, her lower lip all pink and pouty, her arms crossed under her chest inadvertently pushing it up showing off creamy skin and some seriously tempting cleavage.
He was about to tell himself off for following that line of thinking when he heard a noise across the bay, pushing thoughts of a certain pair of tits to the back of his mind. It was the unmistakable tread of a heavy boot on metal grating.
"Get down," he muttered over to River and for once in her life she did exactly as she was told. Slunk down the side of the crate, crouched down on the side closest to the door and stared up at him.
Drawing his LeMat from its holster, he laid it alongside his thigh where someone approaching couldn't see it and he could reach it that much faster.
A harsh, heavily accented voice sounded across the bay as that pissant Crow walked up the dock with three of his boys, bold as brass. "You didn't make the rendezvous."
He bit back a groan. Ruttin' perfect.
niushi: cow dung
tiancai: genius
go tsao de: dog humping
gose: crap
zui hao de: very best
hundans: bastards
shenme: what?