Title: The Better Deal
Author: Blue Buick R
Notes: This is my first Firefly fic so be kind, I'm not sure I got the "style" right. Feedback is more than welcome.
Malcolm Reynolds firmly believed a good commander, a good captain, a good leader of men could make something of even the worst soldier. It was this belief, and perhaps a healthy dose of self preservation, which saw Jayne Cobb under his employ beyond the almost botched run in with Marco. Zoe pressed for him to pay Cobb his share of the job and cut him loose; said he couldn't trust a man who rolled over on his last employer at the first hint of a better deal. Zoe probably never realized that her case for getting ride of the mercenary only made Mal want to keep him all the more. It was a challenge, a testament to his abilities, to find a place for Jayne on Serenity.
The man was strong as an ox, vicious in a fight, a better shot than most men alive and despite being a little slow on the uptake Mal could see a strange kind of intelligence lurking behind those prickly blue eyes. He'd worked with a hell of a lot less and found success; this wouldn't be any different. Besides, if in the end matters didn't work out the way he planned (which given his track record with plans, wasn't completely out of the range of the possible), well he'd give the man his walking papers. Easy peasy, Japanesey.
Zoe warned of the dangers of a better deal, but Mal, well Mal aimed to make sure a better deal didn't come along.
Mal stood there and stared at him for a good long while in the dwindling light. Jayne Cobb waited patiently for him, standing stock still in the dust at the foot of the ramp, over-worn T-shirt stretched tight over chest and arm muscles straining slightly to keep the two large duffle bags slung over his shoulders aloft. They looked jammed full of something and were large enough to hold a body each with a little creative folding. Although, judging from the shape Mal didn't think there were any inside…bodies that is. Fingerless work gloves, a ratty jacket with a few crests sewed on which Mal didn't recognize, and what looked like the same soggy old cigar clamped between his teeth completed the ensemble. The man wasn't going to win any fashion shows that was for sure, but neither was Mal and his suspenders. Taking in and noting the grime covering eighty percent of the visible skin and the dullness of the man's hair Mal finished his inspection.
"We can drop your gear off in your room, then I'll give you a tour," he said, motioning for Jayne to step up into the bay. The mercenary gave him a quick nod and started up the ramp. "We'll start with the showers," Mall suggested as he passed.
As they all sat around the supper table mouths agape, Mal realized he was going to have to do some budgetary revisions, starting with increasing their grocery moneys by a good thirty percent. He knew some day he was going to regret his open policy on kitchen privileges, and today appeared to be the day. At the time, having lived through more than a few lean years during the war, and seeing more than a few good men wilt under hunger, he felt it the right thing to do. And if he pondered it for a moment or two he'd realize it still was. Hungry people made for unfocused people, and unfocused people made mistakes. He supposed he'd taken for granted how little girls and men the size of Wash actually ate compared to say a full platoon…oh and Jayne Cobb.
They watched in morbid fascination as the man shoveled his food into his mouth, dragon painted bowl cradled in one meaty paw close to his face, while the other wielded chopsticks in economic sweeping motions. He didn't seem to notice their scrutiny, or if he did he paid it no mind, but when Mr. Washburn could take it no more and had to go off at the mouth like Mal knew he would, Jayne simply flicked his eyes up from his bowl and reached long across the table to grab a scrap of Wash's mustache between his thumb and the first knuckle of his index finger, yanking hard. Wash howled, both hands going up to slap over his bleeding upper lip, while Jayne sprinkled his pinch of whiskers into the little gas light at the centre of the table, the smell of burning hair immediately following.
The next day Wash showed up to breakfast sans soup strainer, with a scab over his lip that looked like a bad case of herpes. Later Mal would find out Jayne once ate thirty six pieces of fried chicken in one go.
It was funny, sometimes, what precipitated a revelation. In this particular case it was patience. Or a lack there of, to be more precise. As in Mal's and Jayne's. Low on provisions, exhausted from their latest job and looking to get paid for their trouble, Serenity and her crew hauled their beleaguered asses to their contact with something akin to anticipation. With this payoff the promise of wine, insert second option here and song hovered in their immediate future.
But low and behold, upon their arrival there was no contact. No contact meant no money. No money meant none of the three aforementioned distractions. No aforementioned distractions meant it would be going on three weeks in which Jayne had not killed a man, been laid, or gotten decently drunk. In Mal's albeit limited experience this was the limit in which one could expect the mercenary to behave himself before he started turning his frustrations on the crew. And Mal really didn't want to have to put a bullet between the man's eyes because he got a little too stabby, with either his knife or his…
"Look here," Mal growled, tightening his fists in the unflustered man's overly starched shirt. "I don't give a good gorram if you fleeced your old boss outta his own mother. He owed us for a job and we delivered. Now since you're now in possession of his considerable assets, and you being such an efficient accountant and all, why don't you just hand over our cut and we'll be on our way."
The man managed a passable shrug while clutched so tightly in Mal's grip. "Your deal was with Mr. Harper, not I," he replied.
"Well Mr. Harper would still be alive and in business if it weren't for your creative bookkeeping, so I think it only fair that you uphold his financial obligations."
The man smirked. "I won't. And you won't kill me either."
Mal sneered and was about to give the man another good shake, hard enough to loosen some teeth maybe, when out of the corner of his eye he saw Jayne move.
"Enough of this gou shi," the mercenary snarled, wrenching the smaller man out of Mal's grip and turning him around to dangle in an iron tight headlock. "I broke a man's jaw once," he said conversationally, bending low to speak in the man's ear. "I held his head so it couldn't move, like I'm doing to you now, then I just…" he brought his hand up and tapped the heel of his palm against the hinge of the man's jaw, "as hard as I could. Pred'near tore half his face off."
"But you didn't kill him," Mal hummed.
"Nah," Jayne laughed. "Think he died though, shock or somethin'. But I didn't kill him."
That night Mal got liquored up with Jayne, and when a couple of girls came by who looked to be, in the other man's words, "as tight as a bull's ass at fly time", he actually thought on it some before turning down the offer.
From that day forward Mal always brought Jayne when he went to collect.
Mal realized they weren't never getting off this planet. Not in Serenity anyhow. He stood there, staring at the well manicured man behind his ornately carved wooden desk, his two goons standing silent and ready on either side, and silently fumed. They weren't ever getting off this planet.
"Without a lift on the quarantine you'll never get off this planet, Mr. Reynolds," the desk man reiterated.
"We're not assassins," Mal returned flatly for the second time. "We're not sick, the tests will prove that, you can't keep us here."
The man smiled wide, large perfect teeth flashing. "Yes well, medical records get lost, technicians make mistakes. I know these things, I have a brother who's a doctor you know, he works at the clinic."
"I'm sure you're family is very proud," Mal ground out.
"Oh we are."
"We're not killers," Mal tried again.
The man scoffed. "I hardly believe that," he said genially. "But really all that matters is that you are a business man, as am I, and that an equitable arrangement has been offered and should be accepted."
"Why don't you just do it yourself," Zoe quietly questioned from close behind his left shoulder.
"Accountability, my dear. I can not, and will not, have this traced back to me. Men break or are easily bribed, and with such a short window of opportunity I shant have the occasion to contract any outside talent. Luckily for me, you fine people fell from the sky right into my lap at such a favorable moment. You do this small favour for me, we get you back in the sky, and I should hope we never hear from each other again. Easy."
It was Mal's turn to scoff. "Not so easy according to you. You said those tournaments can last days and who knows when your man will emerge. You'd need someone staked out there around the clock."
"Which is not particularly difficult. Taxing and stressful I will agree, but hardly difficult. But rules are rules and no player can leave the premises once the tournament has begun and they're still in the game. A safeguard against dishonesty I believe."
"It's still not possible," Zoe interjected. "Shifts aren't advisable, too many comings and goings and it's bound to be noticed, besides it'll take a hell of a long distance shot to do it, especially if he shows at night."
The man sighed. "That's most unfortunate."
Mal could hear the unsaid 'for you'.
All of a sudden a firm voice from the back of the room cut through the tension filled silence.
"I ken do it."
Every head in the room swiveled to zero in on Jayne leaning up against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest.
"What?" Mal asked poleaxed.
Jayne uncrossed his arms and straightened, walking over to the desk and leaning down over it, his palms laying flat against the polished surface.
"I ken do it, but I'll need three things," he said to the man behind the desk.
"And what pray tell are those?" he replied, leaning back in his chair to put some distance between him and the mercenary.
"A girl for before, some chemical assistance that'll keep me awake when I need it but wont give me the jitters, and a girl for after," Jayne stated matter of factly.
"Done," the man spread his hands out wide and to the side, grin firmly back in place.
Jayne nodded then straightened and turned to look at Mal.
"Jayne," Mal whispered in warning.
"You want off this rock?" Jayne leaned in and whispered back harshly.
Mal swallowed and nodded his head.
"You or Zoe want to try your hand at putting a bullet in this guy?"
A shake of the head was his answer to that.
"Well then that leaves the job to me," he reasoned. "I've done long stake outs before, Mal, I ken do this."
"As long as you don't go bug shit with sleep deprivation or those stimulants," Mal pointed out.
Jayne shrugged. "They want this done right they'll give me the good stuff and I'll be fine. Be wired than hell, but fine. Just make sure you lock up anything sharp or combustible when I come back."
"So keep you out of your room till you come down," Mal elaborated.
"Yeah," the merc smirked.
Mal sighed heavily and patted Jayne on the upper arm before turning his attention back to the man behind the desk.
"One change to my man's demands and you got yourself a deal," he said.
"And what might that be?"
Mal cast a quick and bright eyed looked at Jayne for a moment then, "make it two girls for after."
In the end Mal found it wasn't half as much work as he thought it would be. Making something out of Jayne. If he were being truthful he'd have to say the man did most of the work his own self. Keep him fed, keep him paid, let him loose dirt side every now and then to scratch that itch and Jayne Cobb was as good a soldier as was needed. And when Zoe up and married Wash, taking that little piece of herself which she always shared with Mal and gone and give it to another man, well Mal had Jayne to fall back on. The big merc weren't never going to get married or want to have babies or settle down with a life outside of the next job. His loyalty might be bought, but Mal knew most people's were, one way or another; Jayne's price was just a little more practical than most. His cut, his guns, and his bunk; that's all Jayne Cobb needed to be happy…to be happy on Serenity. As long as things stayed balanced, as long as nothing came along and gummed up the works, well Mal couldn't see things changing much. For him, and for Jayne, there wasn't a better deal in the 'verse.
End