Jayne walked into the bar and glared.

As the doors swung back behind him, he surveyed the scene of busy drinkers, criminals, whores, merchants and general low-lives that teemed before him. He hitched Vera onto his shoulder, and reached up to light the cigar clamped between his teeth.

Behind the bar, the tender leant across and yelled: "Hey! Read the sign!" To which he pointed to a large wooden panel that hung above the bar. On it, the words "No guns" were inexpertly scrawled.

"I can't ruttin' read," yelled Jayne. He pulled Vera from his shoulder and pointed her directly at the tenders head, before adding threateningly: "Unless you say I can."

At which point, predictably, the whole bar fell to a deadly silence.

"Naaw…" whispered the man, and busily started to serve the next drunker punter waving credits nervously in his direction. Jayne smiled, and lowered his gun. Slowly, the buzz of conversation returned to the room.

From over to his left, he heard a familiar voice. "Dumbass." Mal stood by an inner doorway, that Jayne knew led into a booth.

Jayne snorted. "Well, it's up to me now, ain't it. Afterall, I got no one but mysel' to worry about."

And no one but yoursel' to get gorram well killed with that attitude, thought Mal. He looked at the big man as he stood there, all guns, mouth and gusto. What the hell is wrong with him? "Yeah, well, anyway. I got you a beer, but you'll have to come through here to gorram well get it."

Jayne fixed Mal a stare, before striding past him into the booth.

Once they were seated, Mal began.

"Okay. First of all if you want 12 percent – it's yours. But that's the gorram best I can do. That's the same as Zoe and, hell, not even Wash knows about that, so if you agree, you'll have to alsoswear to keep your gorram mouth shut." As he spoke, he started to nurse the dented mug in his hands.

Jayne leaned over. "Nope."

Mal's face fell. "Whaddya mean? That's the best ruttin' deal you've ever been offered your life, you ungrateful - " He stopped himself.

"Yeah, well, maybe I don't like the small print," snapped Jayne. But on seeing Mal's confused face, he decided to give him a bit more detail. "You see, Mal, workin' on Serenity ain't simple enough for me. I like things to go smooth, and I like to generally work how I wanna. When we first started off, it was the same for you. But now for reasons of your own - we got ruttin'.. fugitives and Alliance on our tail! Not to mention you seem to have some kinda aversion to workin' every time Inara wants to hit the Core."

Jayne hoped Mal hadn't noticed his stumble over the reference to the gorram, bitch-girl.

He hadn't. Mal was too busy giving him awarning glare.

"Well," the merc continued, "Maybe I'm wrong about that. But either way, it's all too hot, and all too mixed up in some ruttin' purpose of yours that I don't gorram understand, nor want to. Mal, I ain't like you. I ain't filled with a load of gosa about doin' the right thing. I'm just a muscle."

Jayne reached up, removed the cigar from his mouth, and stubbed it out purposefully on the table. A sliver of smoke rose up. he added: "So to me, it's all just more trouble than it's worth."

Mal noticed that Jayne's defiant tone had trailed off into something more morose. He looked at the merc curiously. There was something goin' on in that thick head that he didn't understand. Well, that's never happened before, he thought.

"Well," said the Captain, "I get it. Sort of. But what I don't get is how you didn't used to care about what the hell I planned, or what the hell I did, as long as you got paid, and now you seem to have some kind of aversion to the way I run things? Since when did you get an opinion on gorram morals?"

"Aw, Mal," replied Jayne, casually. "I always thought you were a jumped-up jackass with some kinda nobility personality disorder. I jus' couldn't tell you before, what you payin' me."

Mal fixed the brute a glare. As he looked into his eyes however he noticed a hint of a knowing spark. The gorram meat-head is tryin' to rile me, he thought. Now I am intrigued. And what's more, I'm gonna find out why.

"Well, Jayne, I thank you for your – honesty," he replied, though gritted teeth. "And if that's the way you feel, then hell, I can't argue. But will you just at least do one last trick for me? As I said, I got this merchant comin' and he's got a job that should pay. Even takin' into account my bigger cut on the grounds that I'm, like, nobility."

Yep, thought Mal. This guy I've got comin' should pay big. And hopefully it'll be enough to get the merc back to his normal selfish, self-satisfied self so that he forgets all of this gosa and comes back to the boat. Or at least had enough fun to remember why the hell he's workin' with me in the first place. Yep, that's all I need. A good job – where he's workin' for me.

Jayne considered. At the end of the day, he realised, all the possessions he had in the world were strapped to his body, and they didn't include more than a few measly credits, especially after his appointments with Loretta, which had been fairly numerous. Well, it helped to take his mind off.

But whatever the hell he was gonna do, he would need cash. And – he admitted – it might be fun to do a last gig with Mal. He could be a self-satisfied, superior monkey's-butt but – as he now looked up to study the man's face – he was really, at heart…kinda bearable.

Jayne felt a small knot of emotion pinch his throat. He quickly picked up his own mug and drained it. Gorram it, he thought, if it's not the moonbrain, now I'm getting' gorram soft over this piece of pretentious gosa. It was a black day, he reasoned, for the Cobbs.

Just as he came to this conclusion, a tall, dark shadow loomed across the table. Both Mal and Jayne raised their eyes.

The man standing at the end of the booth was well over six foot. He was wearin' the normal gear – dusty trousers, a long coat. But he had more than your average number of large laser rifles strapped across his body.

But his most striking feature of all was the large scar that ran across his eye to his jaw, which at this point was slightly hidden by a wide brimmed, hide hat. He nodded.

"Mal," was all he said, in a drawl.

The Captain gestured towards the giant, and leaned into speak to Jayne. "And just in time. Jayne, say hello. This is my good friend Randall Boser. He's the man who wants to hire us."

"Yeah, Mal, I met him," said Jayne, casually, in reply. He reached out and rubbed his neck, before raising a hand in a casual wave to the giant. He asked: "So, Uncle Ran, you lookin' for staff?"

Mal's eyes fell to his drink. "Nuts," he muttered.