Epilogue

Fallout

On the first day, Mal returned to Persephone, with a fairly sound-proof story that United Reclamation had gotten to Badger's goods first. Badger, dismayed, had tried to contact his buyer repeatedly, but had neither been answered, nor waved back in eighteen hours. In the wake of the slaughter of nearly all his men, Badger let Mal's failure slide as he busily was trying to pin the coup on a rival of his nearly halfway around the planet.

On the second day, River piloted them silently into the black, acting as though nothing had happened on Sparta. Mal and Simon settled down to check out the contents of some of the data chips. An hour in, they were joined by Zoë. An hour after that, by Inara and Kaylee. Jayne spent the time divided between cleaning his guns, and flushing the sewage system. Most of the data was old newsfeeds, flash bulletins and dumb little moments. Chase, it seemed, had been a data junkie.

Simon at some point, noticed Zoë rubbing her knee, and bickered with her until Mal gave her an order to have it looked at. The two of them passed by Jayne on his way to the showers, as they descended into the infirmary. Simon commented on how badly he reeked, and Jayne snarled in response. Zoë was pleased to see them back at each others throats, in the aftermath of the weirdness that Mal hinted.

Simon would have Zoë at his mercy for the greater part of the next two hours. Sometime during those two hours, Kaylee retired to the engine room, while Inara headed to the infirmary to assure herself that Zoë wasn't giving Simon too much grief. Mal was left alone with the data chips. After a few more discs of nothing but fluff, he succumbed to the urge to close his eyes.

Jayne stepped out of the showers, and slunk like a guilty cat toward his bunk. Of the hundreds of things he'd been pondering saying over the course of his shower, none of them seemed to work. He had talked to himself the entire time, finding excuses, going over plots that were entirely too linear. As he neared his bunk, a familiar shape detached itself from the wall, and waited.

She was wearing a cute little sundress, of all gold and pink flowers. Bare feet, of course; Jayne had never seen her walk around the ship with her boots actually on. Even as she watched him approach, that steady gaze betrayed nothing.

"'Spect you'll be wantin' the bear back?" Jayne muttered as he kicked his hatch open. River only nodded mutely. Part of him felt triumphant for knowing what was on her mind, when she was supposed to be the Reader. "Jus' wait here." Swinging onto the ladder, Jayne descended into his bunk without a further word. He glanced back up once, and was satisfied to see her leaning over the opening, staring curiously down into the space.

Grabbing the bear off its shelf, Jayne swung back up the ladder. River jumped hastily out of his way, and let a minor expression of dismay cross her brow as he toed the hatch shut. Having her looking down into his bunk made him all manner of uncomfortable. Holding the bear out to her, he watched the girl's expression soften as she accepted it. Unable to help himself, Jayne watched her left hand carefully. Simon had taken time with it, weaved and mended it, and wrapped it all up in a bandage.

Motioning with his chin slightly, Jayne asked before realizing it: "How's the hand?"

River glanced up from her inspection of the white bear in the ballerina tutu. For a moment, Jayne was afraid that the little creep had taken away all her powers of speech. That they'd forever have to be interpreting her expressions and eye-rolls. Her little pink tongue darted out to wet her lips.

"How much?"

"Whassat?" Jayne leaned down a bit, having missed her whisper for being so focused on that pouty expression. He shook himself slightly, tried to lean back against the bulkhead nonchalantly.

"Consumed ammunition. Monetary value. Pledge was given to make equitable trade." River hesitated then, and she drew the stuffed bear a little tighter against her chest. "Both of cash money, and… portions of my hide."

Jayne felt his grin crack through the confusion. Oh, he remembered those threats! She was getting uncomfortable as he chuckled, failing to see the amusement in her hide being stripped. She shifted from one foot to another, before Jayne finally reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder.

She tensed, and looked ready to bolt, but Jayne's grip held her in place. They both knew that she could easily drop him where he stood, that the right touch in the right place would end the whole situation. And Jayne waited a moment to see if she'd make a move. When she didn't, he pulled her closer, until he could lean down to her ear. With one hand, he brushed back her hair, letting his lips linger a fraction of a centimeter away from her skin.

"Never… run off ag'in." He whispered softly. "Dong ma?"

River was shaking like a leaf. As he drew back slightly, she had shut her eyes, and let her lips fall slightly open. The one thing he'd promised he'd never do came breaking down in that moment. There was a special hell waiting for him at the end of his long walk, but he was pretty damn sure he wouldn't be going there alone. Nope. There was gonna be this little blood-stained ghost of a girl walking beside him the whole way.

Jayne leaned in for a moment more, just long enough to feel the electricity of breath against breath, and lips against lips. River flinched physically, jolting away from him with a start. He released her shoulder as she backed away, the fingers of her right hand exploring her lips. When Jayne let his hand fall limply to his side, River took off down the corridor like a spooked doe.

With a sigh, he scrubbed his hand over his face, and kicked his hatch open once more. Standing at the base of the ladder, he stared thoughtfully at the weapon rack on his wall.

"No one cares for the weapon. I do not wish to be the weapon."

He thought back on that comment, while he took Alexis down from her spot on the wall. Turning the weapon over in his hands… he admired her lines, the sweep of the trigger guard. His guns were like women, each with their own fickle personality, all with their own quirks. Understanding clouted him upside the head with a five pound mallet.

He knew what he should have said while she'd fretted and worried that day. He knew exactly what she needed to hear. His shoulders sagged, defeated.

Yer more than a weapon, t'me.