Disclaimer: Just playing Joss' sandbox—though I did bring my own shovel—the sand still belongs to Joss.

A/N: The nice thing about birthdays is that you get gifts…J/K. Anyway one particular gift I received this year inspired me to write this. OC's PoV, VERY VERY Post-BDM, Rayne Implied. Read, review, let me know what you think.

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There wasn't a lot that scared Jayne Malcolm Cobb.

Not the dark or thunder or the tiny spiders that scuttled about all of Serenity. Not Captain when he was angry or Uncle Simon's shiny needles, nope, not even reavers scared him—though that one might be a half-lie more than a whole truth.

There was really only one thing that scared Jayne Malcolm Cobb in the whole 'verse (even if he sometimes denied it) and that was his momma.

Weren't many who knew his momma who would disagree with him, not when they knew just what she was capable of. She could probably turn him black and blue, no belt required, not that he'd ever given her reasons to. None of them gave reasons for Momma to discipline them—though there was the occasional talking to by Grandpa Mal (mostly given when they called him Grandpa) and the stern lecture by Uncle Simon, Ma herself never really needed to put them in their place.

They might not be the best trained kids in the 'verse but the Cobb children had manners, had respect for those who deserved it, and well Ma, just like all the other folk on Serenity, had earned it.

Which was half the reason seven year old Jayne was trying pretty damn hard not to cry just yet, even though he could feel a storm brewing right behind his eyes as it was, standing there before his ma who had a look fixed on her face as though all the oxygen had been sucked right outta the 'verse, as she stared down at the concoction of orange-hued wool in his hands.

The other half was 'cause he was pretty sure he'd crossed a line, and Jayne Cobb did not like crossing lines, not with Momma anyways. Abby and Amy Jay had made sure of that. From as far back as he could remember his sisters were always there, reminding him he ought to be careful with Ma, as her only son he had an extra charge of taking care of her. Somehow, even at seven, Jayne was pretty sure this was not any sort of way of taking care of her.

One glance at her told him that much.

Her eyes—big brown eyes that were just like his—were all glassy and wide, like they'd pop right outta place if they could. By comparison her mouth might as well be nonexistent, thin little line that it was. Her entire body was strung tighter than he'd ever seen the captain's, so much so he was afraid that the slightest movement on his part might just make her come undone all together.

"Where did he get that?"

Her voice was barely an echo of what it normally was, with none of its normal goodness and he felt a little bit like he was gonna be sick. Her eyes were glued to his hands which were still clinging to the hat, nails digging into the gaps between the well worn wool.

"I found it." He told her truthfully, eyes darting around her bunk, "I was playing hide and seek with the others and I knocked over a trunk. By accident." He added quickly, sucking in a mouthful of air so that his chest would stop hurting so, trying to hold back the wobble in his throat along with the tears in his eyes. "I was putting it all back in and I found it. That's all. I wasn't gonna take it without asking you, Ma, I promise." Perhaps that part wasn't so truthful, but there wasn't any other way of putting it without unlocking a whole other story and he really just wanted to get the situation defused before something inside Momma's head broke and he had to go and fetch Uncle Simon.

Because there wasn't nothing that broke in the insides of Ma's head better than Daddy (though not always in a bad way, Auntie Kaylee swore whenever he went to her for stories). Daddy'd just had that way about him that made Momma come undone, and getting dead hadn't changed any of that it seemed, except that now it was always in a bad way.

Wasn't his fault, Jayne thought, that there wasn't nothing of Daddy's left over for him to have. Abby had her memories and Amy Jay had her stories but Jayne, well he didn't have nothing that wasn't second hand.

No way he could considering Daddy went when he did.

And while Momma had named him after his father she wasn't forthcoming with things, not the way the others onboard were. And while he hadn't come into her bunk looking for anything in particular, it seemed destined somehow that he'd find the hat and keep for his own, so he too could have some part of the man after whom he was named.

A tear leaked outta his eyes and he fought the urge to leap forward and bury his face in his mother's hip, just like he used to do when he was younger. There was no time for being a crybaby, he told himself sternly, he had to set things right. With a shaking hand he reached out slowly, the hat still gripped in his fist, holding the hat out so Momma could take it back and put it away with all of Daddy's other things.

Instead Ma surprised him (Grandpa Mal said she'd always been good at doing that, just like she was good at doing just about everything else).

She took hold of the hat, fingers unfolding the ear flaps, setting straight the fluffy ball of yarn that was set on top, carefully tracing the three layers where the colors divided into the next. It wasn't the best hat he'd ever seen, not by a million. The colors after all were partially garish and oddly set in comparison to just about anything he'd ever seen in his life. It had seen its fair share of life though, he could tell, well worn soft wool that reminded him of his ma's dresses.

He watched his ma turn that hat over in her hands like it was some sacred artifact from Earth-That-Was, eyes increasingly shiny as her mouth slowly bloomed into something that wasn't a smile but wasn't a frown either.

Then with equal reverence she bent over and put the hat on his head, the ear flaps falling a good way past his chin, his eyes covered as the hat slid lower.

Speechless he stood there as his ma adjusted it, fighting the trembling that started somewhere deep in his bones. After an eternity she at last straightened and looked down at him, tear tracks on her own face.

She spoke then, and her voice had changed too, it wasn't an echo of her but rather more like a memory, something she was pulling from way-back-when, something that went further than even Abby's oldest memory.

"Pretty cunning."

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End

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