Jayne had to admit, so far, it seemed that Kaylee's claims were totally unjustified about River's shootin' prowess. As he sat back in his chair, pushin' against the kitchen table and waitin' for Simon to make his next move, he couldn't help but muse on the fact he felt, well, disappointed.

"Come on, stop screwin' around," he barked at Simon, as he mused over River. The Doc was, as ever, taking ages over his choice of card. Even Book looked a mite impatient. Around them, other members of the crew entered and left. Mal however, was in his room as usual. He'd been as grumpy as hell since they got back from that whorehouse.

"I'll move when I'm good and ready, thank you Jayne," Simon replied, however the mercenary noticed with some pleasure how the boy then slapped his plum card a mite too speedily on the table. Book then sat up, ready to take his turn.

No, thought Jayne, that first night when gorram River had picked up that silver pistol, he had been fully prepared for her to start takin' out every single one of those targets he had set up for her around the hold. I mean, he knew it could be harder with a silencer – well hell, he had to keep the noise down or Mal'd come investigatin' – but for her to miss totally? When she was some kinda genius with a head full'a mathamsticks..mathem…. sums?

Nope. She was patently an amateur, he reasoned. If Kaylee'd seen anything, it had been luck - pure luck. Or – and this was sumthin' that had to be investigated, she was playin' with him again.

But either way, he had been disappointed. Partly 'cos he'd been mite excited about the idea that girl might be a dab hand with a gun. As it turned out though – he flicked a guilty look across at the Doc – when he'd seen her run her hands along Vera like she was strokin' a cat - he'd actually got excited about her in a totally unexpected way.

Sure, he's always thought she was pretty. But generally she was too gorram witchy-lookin' . In terms of physique, she was too skinny for him, not to mention pale. Generally he didn't trust women who looked too – well, supernatural. He preferred nice, busty, healthy-lookin', straightforward girls - with as much sexual experience as possible. It didn't care how old they were, as long as they didn't need patience or have gorram delicate sensibilities. When he wanted to fuck, well – he did.

But it was turnin' out that she was more than she had first appeared. That move with Vera had been nothin' more than a tease - and not an innocent one, unless she was stupid. He had thought afterwards - it takes balls for anyone to touch my gorram gun, let alone when they know I'm standing only a few feet away with a mind to reactin' however violently as required.

But to do it in a way that, hell, she must've known would've made him feel less than fatherly towards her when he was already buzzin' – well that was sumthin' else. He touchin' that gun, in that way, had been gorram sexy, a bit threatening, and hell – pretty gorram thrillin'.

Which was why that the more he thought about it, he decided then and there that her attempts at shootin' were so far not what they appeared. She was gorram hidin' somethin' or trying to fuzz him up using some fem'nin wiles so he didn't notice. She was turnin' out to be more of a challenge than he'd expected. But hell, he admitted, it was turnin'' out to be more than a little bit enjoyable.

XXxx

Mal sat in his room, staring at the wall. He was sick, and miserable. Not too sick – as it was just some kind of flu virus he'd picked up on one of his cargo stops. But hell, even he admitted, he was hellishly miserable. Inara.

He hated havin' her here sometimes what with the whole line or work she was in and the fact it was her in it - but at the same time he had to admit he was even more in hate with the idea of her leavin'. But she was, so that was it.

He was delayin' it of course. Since she told him he'd turned the ship around to get as far from the Core a possible to limit her options. Thing is, that had left the crew scrabbling around for some pretty lame jobs – including, he admitted angrily, another gosa wobbly doll shipment. As if his pride hadn't been gorram beat up enough.

Still, he knew that things couldn't go on. To begin with, the crew needed credits. And also, she would suspect after a time he was tryin' to keep her here. And he didn't want her figurin' out anything that wasn't hers to figure.

So he'd decided. They were headed out to some remote terraform this week - but the week after he was gonna head back to Persephone and be done with it. Get it over with and get on with. And hopefully, get a job that would at the very least get his mind of her - and Jayne off his back. The merc'd been mighty jumpy lately – that scene in the kitchen earlier on in the week had been a sign that he was feelin' out of luck – and worse out of pocket. Which meant he got mighty grizzly. And as much as he hated to admit it, he needed to keep Jayne on side, and ideally on board.

Jayne. Mal knew that he couldn't trust the hard-head an inch, but havin' him around sure was a relief, he admitted. Zoe was his solid number two, but the big guy was his heavy duty muscle, not to mention the only other man on board who acted liked a gorram soldier. That was a life he could understand – not the life of a doctor, a pilot, or even a shepherd – although he had plenty suspicion that Book was more than he seemed. But either way, Jayne was the closest he had, he recognised, to a male equal on the boat.

But there was more to it that that as well. He knew he also liked havin' the man around because it reminded him of what the hell he was tryin' to avoid ever becomin'. Jayne was like him in many ways, but with morals removed – and probably a fair few more subtle brain cells too. In the black, it was easy to slip into pure survival, too easy to be like the rest. To get beyond hope. To give up.

So every time Jayne fought with him, tried to deceive him or undercut him – Mal was reminded to stay true to himself. So it served a purpose. Of course part of him hoped one day the gorram ape would stop tryin' on those things, maybe get a conscience and become someone he could truly rely on – but it wasn't likely.

Whatever way you looked at it, Jayne was a lost cause, it seemed. It didn't matter if he had been born a murdering sonofabitch or whether he had had some reason of his own to change, to give up – he was too far gone. Or at least, to used to and too comfortable bein' where he was – to come back.

Xxxx

River was wandering down the corridor, gazing down at the floor. There were branches again, she saw – but she knew that sometimes what she though she saw wasn't really there. Simon's drugs were helping clear her mind. But it was still hard to separate reality from imagination.

Which is why perhaps she had struggled with the gun the other night, she considered. She had been aware of it in her hand, but had found it hard to actually focus on it, and the targets Jayne had set up. So when she had tried to fire, she had repeatedly missed. The same focus she had had previously in her eyes and her mind – simply didn't materialise.

It was confusing. When she had shot Niska's crew, it had been automatic. The gun had felt like an extension of her, rather than a separate thing. Also, she found that she had felt no fear or surprisingly any guilt as a result of her action. It had been necessary, she had to do it, and it had been done.

So why now, when she had touched the pistol, did it feel alien and alarming? Why did the way it look change before her eyes?

Furthermore, her failure had been embarrassing. She hadn't quite known why she had touched Vera the way she did, and hadn't really thought about the wisdom of it – but immediately afterwards Jayne had seemed to regard her with a new kind of respect.

Somehow, she had communicated something to him – she wasn't quite sure what, but figured he had understood at least that she was more than a little girl. There had at least been a few less "moonbrains" – which wasn't her favourite term. He'd even once stumbled over her name.

So when she had then been unable to shoot the gorram gun, she'd been more than a bit deflated. Jayne had also seemed slightly perplexed – although surprisingly none too irritated. He just kept looking at her in a curious way, as if she was some kind of new pistol that'd just come out on the market. Though he'd also been thinking she was faking, she'd realised later. It was also suspicion.

Maybe as a result, he had seemed rather reluctant to come to close to help her out too much after that. She had expected him to at least show her how to hold the thing correctly, as it seemed her previous instincts had deserted her. But he had stood away - and when she reached out to him later to offer back the gun, he had looked almost conflicted as he grabbed it and slammed it back into his artillery belt.

As then, he had just grunted: "Okay. I think we need to find somewhere else to practise. 'Cos at the moment you're shootin' like a one eyed dog who's been enjoyin' the delights of mudders milk a fair too many times."

She had, to her surprise, felt crushed. River had never been overly brazen about her natural intelligence, but she knew that compared to the vast majority of people, she was extremely bright. When she set out to try something new, she grasped it almost immediately. She didn't have to try.

This new development was to her, a new insight into her condition. Did this mean she was actually less intelligent than before? Because she didn't feel like it. She looked up and around her. Without trying she could almost see the way the ship fitted together, its workings, its patterns. Why then such a failure with the gun?

Suddenly, confusion gave way to frustration. River had often felt angry lately at her lack of ability to communicate with others. But she had never had cause to question her abilities. And now she had. Maybe, she mused, I'm not what they all really think I am. Maybe whatever they – she shuddered at the recollection - built me for, they built me wrong.

She had been so involved in her thoughts, she failed to notice Jayne's familiar figure moving determinedly towards her down the corridor. Her mind soon caught the echo of his thoughts however, and she looked up to face him just as he stopped directly in front of her. His chest rose and fell as for a moment, as a beat passed.

The quickly, he muttered: "Okay. We're on our way to a gorram planet. I'll be helping Mal but there'll be time to grab an hour or two practise in the outside, if you can shake off your gorram brother long enough. Maybe this boat's puttin' you off your game. Either way – " and she noticed the emphasis change in his voice - "I aim to find out."

And with that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving only the musky scent of cigars and gun grease floating in his wake.