River realised that yet again, for all her efforts, she had misunderstood. She had felt such warmth, such connection when she had thought she had been helping soothe him. But in doing that, she had in ways made it worse. It had been like offering water to a thirsty man – then snatching it away. No wonder he'd acted like a child.

She was once again holed up in her cabin. And as she lay, face down on her bed, she allowed her mind to return to the night before. When he had grabbed her so desperately, she had felt herself waver again at his vulnerability - despite his outburst. That, coupled with the damp, hardness of his body – had been too much. She had responded. But as he had later moved within her again, she had felt confliction.

She wanted him – so much. But was it right?

He had also sensed her reticence. For the first time, after she had come, he had simply pulled away. As if he knew that – this time – she didn't want him in her. When she had left, he had looked away, unwilling to meet her eyes. She had watched his jaw clench as she reached for the hatch.

Up until that point, she had felt almost accepting of the future that now lay before her. His memory was to have warmed her on those nights locked inside. Away from anyone who may threaten her. Touch her. But now, she felt afraid at the prospect. Whereas for two days she had felt so close to him – and she had thought, him to her – now she felt once more if he were a stranger. Perhaps a man can only change so much, she reasoned. At his heart – he does remain the same. His image just shifts.

At that point, she felt a flash of worry – she had been stupid. She had lowered her defences to the point that she had loved him freely. There had been nothing between them when he had been inside her. At the time it had seemed so right.

She pushed the thought aside.

Desperately, she began to reach out for the reasons why she had opened herself to him so readily. He had protected her from Mal. He had kept her secret. But he himself hadsuggested thathe had had his own reasons why.

There had been those times he had talked to her as an individual. When no one else would, when he had first handed her that pistol, those weeks ago. Could that really only just been part of a plot to get rid of her? She had been sure it had been more – but maybe…

Most of all though, she had reached out to him because he had so obviously suffered. She wanted to help him, to grow, to cope. Be better. But she rushed to empathise – without realising that, while she accepted her failures, he seemed to be railing against his. She had simply been a comfort at a time of confusion.

But the saddest realisation came, when she admitted to herself - she had just begun to love him.

She wept bitter tears into her hair, as she lay alone, later that night. Could he ever do anything that was singularly just about another person?

If only he would just do something – that made his feelings clear.

Mal was in the galley in the early hours - when the mercenary wandered in. As had been the case more regularly lately, Mal was unable to sleep. Thoughts of Inara were becoming harder to cope with. He was wondering if they should – talk.

He was thinking about this very subject when Jayne stepped into the galley, his face drawn, and with an expression like thunder.

Immediately, Mal felt a flash of annoyance pass through him. It had only been twenty four hours since his and Jayne's last conversation, but his time with Zoe had made him re-evaluate his thoughts.

He still felt as if he had touched Jayne's sore spot when he had been questioning his feelings. Jayne obviously did not see himself as any type of hero for killing Randall. But all the same the questioned remained – why not? Did he kill Randall for what he had done to the boy, or did he kill him because Randall knew something more? Was it burgeoning self-realisation that was laying Jayne so low, or simple self-pity?

He had hoped and believed he had seen the beginnings of change in Jayne's eyes. But Zoe's words had cautioned him. And Mal was now feeling disappointed, and angry. He had started to believe. If Jayne could change, anything could happen. Maybe – there was hope for the gorram world.

It had been a hope too fragile to dare consider. So he was now feelin' mighty angry that Jayne had caused him to have it at all, when it might've been premature.

Jayne had come in to get some air. Earlier, there had been a bad attack of nerves that had left him holding onto the washboard for close on dear life. He was getting no further with his thoughts about the boy. He still had no idea what had truly driven him to shoot that day. The pain in his neck had returned.

But then afterwards, there had been even more - but this time about her. The panic had risen again in his chest as he had fretted whether she would come back to him that night. The hours had passed, and it had become unbearable, waitin' for the sound of her feet on the stairs.

So as it was, Jayne was in no mood for a chat. But when he saw his Captain look at him, out of the corner of his eye, he knew he was gonna have one anyway. He pushed his vulnerabilities aside and prepared for the inevitable.

"Look," started Mal, "The bottom line is that I want you to stay on board,"

Jayne breathed as he steadied himself, before grunting : "Well, that's shiny for you. Because I ain't." He reached for the water can and took a slug. He couldn't admit to Mal just how badly he needed to feel some kind of sense ofroots right now. For the first time for over two decades, he longed to feel his mother's hand in his hair.

Mal flashed him a look. Gorram. Maybe Zoe was right. Still so defensive. Angry.

"Which don't make no sense, Jayne. You've spent a life travellin' and makin' it on your own, and then you get an urge to go make house in a ruttin' Montgom'ry? What are you gonna do there anyway - make candelabra?"

Jayne gave him a look. "I got things to do there. And anyways, I don't think there's anyone whose gonna miss me." A pang again as he thought of River. Those long legs had been so comforting, wrapped around him. But he had blown it. Like he couldn't help himself. Just like Lester.

Mal glared. Self-pityin' piece of gosa, he thought. "Well, maybe you are right. Afterall, it ain't as if any of us can trust you. Ain't as if you belong here." he snapped. Jayne turned and looked at him.

Superior cows-ass, he thought. "No sir. I guess I don't."

Mal slammed his hand on the table. That was it.

"C'mon then. In which case we got no means to be polite. Why exactly did you kill the boy Jayne? Was it an accident? Or did you really mean to shoot him? Afterall, it ain't right what he did."

Jayne's eye widened in surprise. "I.." he began.

"And what about Randall, Jayne? You kill him for the boy, or really for yoursel'? Feelin' bad, about what you did? I mean, I guess you have got a world of things to feel bad about." Mal stood up and walked towards the man.

His features hardened. "Yesterday I was so gorram certain you were beginnin' to be a better man. But now I ain't so sure. And I ain't so sure I want to be let down. Or havin' to put up with you, you deceitful dog who ain't never gonna watch my back."

'What d'you mean?" replied the mercenary. He began to feel the familiar circle of thoughts return to his mind.

"When I saw you kill that ruttin' old bastard," started Mal, "I felt for you. I really did. I ain't never seen you such a gorram mess. But then, I started to think. Jus' 'cos a man's down don't mean he's worthy of sympathy. It's what he does afterward with what laid him low, that grants him that. And so far I ain't seen much evidence of change with you. You're still selfish, ungrateful, closed. Is it because you don't understand the concept of trust? Friendship? Or is it because you just ain't interested? Maybe because you know you deserve the ruttin' pain?"

Mal was himself surprised at the words he was speaking. He had, he realised, just overstepped a mark. Opened himself up.

But the words just kept coming.

"I seen better men that you die, you know Jayne. On Serenity I had to pile 'em up with my bare hands. They were men who had done wrong. But they'd accepted it, moved on. Tried again to be better. Do the right thing. So why is it that good men like that die, and I'm left with men like you? Men who ain't got a gorram clue when they've got sumthin' worth hangin' on to, like - this, " he gestured to the ship – "and jus' thrown it away because they ain't got the cojones to carry on. Make somethin' of themselves. Somethin' out of what's left."

Jayne had been listening, his face slowly growing darker still at Mal's words. But now he turned to reply.

"This is bout me givin' up?" he asked, "Or is it about the fact that you can't? Or won't?" The big man moved slightly closer to Mal. "This is your thing, Mal. This ship. Everyone. It ain't mine. So don't try and make me part of somethin' that maybe I don't want to be a part of. Just because you can't gorram well lay yourself down somewhere and accept you lost the gorram war.'

Mal snorted. "I accepted it. I jus' don't think that means I have to live in that world they've created. It ain't my world. Serenity is. The crew –"

"Gosa," snapped Jayne. "You're jus' too ruttin' scared to admit you love the whore. This is all a cover."

At which point Mal's mouth fell open in surprise. He then stepped forward, and threw a fist at Jayne's face. The merc stepped back, avoiding the blow. But then Mal raised a leg and kicked him between the legs. Jayne wheezed in pain, shuddered, and fell to his knees. He placed his hands over his groin and roared.

"You ruttin' pig-dog!" The pain shot through him like a electrical shock. But as it did so, the merc suddenly felt his eyes well with tears. The lid he had been keeping so clearly held down on his feelings was threatening to blow.

Mal looked down, in surprise.

Jayne swallowed hard, but his voice broke:"You ruttin' piece of cows-ass. You wanna kill me, then gorram do it! I don't care anyway. I don't give a gorram fuck about any of it. Because you're right. I dunno if I shot the kid deliberate or not. Maybe I did want him dead,"

Jayne was now full out sobbing."The stupid dumbass ran after me. I threw up. He was supposed to be the smart one. What the hell was he doin' with the ol' bastard anyway. It din't seem right. I was angry. Maybe I did kill him. Maybe I did." He looked up at Mal, his eyes red.

"Is that what you wanna hear? It ain't is it. You want me to say I din't kill him. It was an accident. That I'm a good guy really. Like you. That the world's okay. But I don't know. Just like I don't know I if killed the old man for him or for me. Because he was right. I did let the boy down. He was my friend. But I wasn't his."

"I wish I did know what and why I did," he continued. "Because then maybe these gorram words'll jus' get out of my head and I can go back to bein' what I was before. I hate this."

And then he raised his hands to his head, and leant forward, shivering.

For a moment Mal stood over him, in shock. He couldn't quite believe what had just happened. He had seen Jayne angry, low, self-pityin', confused… but he ain't ever seen him gorram cry. It had seemed – wrong. It had also disturbed him. Jayne's voice had strained with every word, with the desperation of a man, utterly lost.

Mal felt conflicted. He knew that Jayne had been honest. He didn't know what he had done or why. But although it had helped, him admitting it – the question remained. How could anyone know ifJayne wastrustworthy, if the man himself couldn't tell?

Presently, Mal put a hand on the merc's shoulder.

"Jayne,' he said, in a quiet voice.

"It's okay. I'm takin' you home."

Later, Jayne sat back in his cabin, his head in his hands. Beside him lay the laser pistol he had pulled out of Mal's holster when the guy had helped pull him up. He was wondering what to do with it.

Mal hadn't noticed it had gone, but it wouldn't be long. He had to make a decision.

She wanted someone who could be sensitive. Adult.

He wasn't sure if he could be thatstrong.

Mal wanted someone to rely on. Watch his back.

"But I don't know if I got it in me to be no different," he mumbled, into his hands.

But he did know the time had come to find out. Slowly, he pulled back his head, reached out and arm,laid his hand on the pistol - and wrapped his fingers around the stock.

'Come on, baby," he said, his voice trembling, "Let's see what this man's made of."