"I told you, stop moving."

Jayne didn't care much for the doctor ordering him to do anything, but he held his arm still. Kaylee had needed help with the engine and since her boyfriend apparently couldn't soil his hands to do manual labor, she'd asked Jayne. Engine got fixed, but since Jayne didn't know what the hell he was doing a couple things had fallen and sliced up his arm all nice and bloody. Simon was cleaning and stitching as needed and using a bit too much of that peroxide, in Jayne's opinion. He gritted his teeth against the searing burn.

"Almost done," Simon assured him, rechecking his work. That's when he noticed the mark on Jayne's shoulder. "Is that… wow, Jayne, is that a bite mark?"

"No," he said immediately, pulling his arm away.

"What the hell happened? I should really take a look at that-"

"It's nothin!" he protested. "You don stitchin me up yet?"

"If that gets infected-"

"It ain't gonna get infected. She don't got rabies, for crying out-."

"She?"

Simon's voice hung in the stillness. The men stared at one another, one intrigued and one panicked. Had he completely blown it?

"Dog," Jayne said uncertainly.

"Those are human teeth marks."

"Didn't mean no damn canine. Woman was ugly as sin. Didn't take kindly to no."

"When was this? We haven't landed anywhere in a few days and that looks pretty recent."

It was becoming obvious that Jayne was not going to weasel out of this war of wits by using his words. So he resorted to what he knew best- intimidation."Don't appreciate all these questions, doc. None of your damn business."

"Fine," SImon agreed, putting his hands up in defeat.

"Just keep it clean. If it gets infected, I can't treat it. I don't have the equipment here for that."

"It ain't gonna get infected," Jayne snapped. 'Less rabies runs in the family.

He didn't have to turn around, or even open his eyes. "No," he said firmly.

"No?" Her voice was tiny and helpless.

"You ain't comin here for therapy." Therapy was what they called it. "You're comin for sex."

"Jayne does not approve?"

"Jayne does not. Now git."

"But I've waited a week since-"

"Since your brother found that happy little bite you gave me?" He rolled over, still sleepy and now a

touch cross.

"Simon does not know."

"He will soon enough. All of 'em will. So my answer sticks- no."

"Jayne does not want her to go."

"Jayne does want her to go." He sighed. "Can't we talk normal-like for once? Why do you gotta be so weird?"

"Why do you gotta lie all the time?" she retorted, mocking his accent.

"M'not."

"M'too. Jayne wants her to stay. He likes the way her hair falls across his shoulder. He likes her scary eyes. He even likes how she pouts when he kicks her out of bed."

"Don't matter." He hated how she could read hismind. "You still can't stay."

"But… I can't sleep."

"Nuh-uh."

"Why?" She knew why. She wanted to hear him say it.

"Cuz last time you were bleedin like someone'd shot ya. Then you passed out 'n I had to carry you to your room. Though for sure I'd get caught."

"They won't stop. Everyone thinks too loud." She climbed into his bed, her head resting against his

chest and her arm draped over his bare stomach. "Why would he sleep with no clothes on if he didn't want her to come?"

Jayne blushed. "Can't have you tearin' up all m'clothes. Only got so many."

"Please let me stay?"

He sighed again. He couldn't very well tell her no, could he? She was already there and comfortable, and he had to admit she made his bed pleasantly cozy. "No therapy," he told her.

"I can't sleep. I need to shut it out somehow." She kissed his neck above his collarbone, a surefire way to get his manly attention.

It was sure working, but he nudged her face away. "No. Don't want to hurt you again."

That was unexpected. She looked up at him, concentrating. It was counterproductive to what she wanted, which was to be out of everyone's heads, but Jayne had something in there she wanted to see and somehow he was hiding it. "You care about me," she decided. His brain had not told her so- this was a guess.

"Just don't want you bleedin all over my bunk."

"I'm healed," she told him. "Please?"

"Maybe you should try some other kinda therapy."

"Like what?"

He scratched his head. "I dunno… talkin?"

"I do talk. No one listens anymore."

"Bull shit, little girl. In all the time I've known you, you ain't never talked to no one. You babble on about whatever pops in that crazy brain you got stuck with, but you never expect no one to understand you so you ain't really talkin to people. You're just makin lots a crazy noise."

"But on one understands."

"Jus' cuz they don't understand, it don't mean they don't care."

"Does Jayne care?"

Does Jayne care? Damn good question. He'd been wondering that himself. "Your brother sure as hell does. Why don't you ever talk to him?"

"Does Jayne care?"

"Jayne…" He thought it through, since words weren't his strong point. "Jayne's not sure he wants to. But if you're willin to talk, he's listenin right here."

"Really?"

"You woke me up, you better make it worth my while."She could have started kissing him again- that'd certainly be worth his while. And hers. But right now his voice held a tenderness she wasn't sure she'd ever heard before and was scared she wouldn't again. This new Jayne was much better than the old one. This one was honest. "Simon thinks bad about me," she began. "He's sorry he rescued me."

"Now that's about the damn dumbest thing I ever heard."

"Is not."

"Is so too. Why would he have spend all this energy and risked his life for ya time an time again if he

hated ya?"

"He didn't know what I'd be like."

He shook his head. "Nah, you're bein stupid. Simon likes you, end of debate. He wouldn't be here if he didn't."

"That's the first time I've ever heard you use his name."

"Don't change topic," he scolded, embarrassed now. "This ain't about me an your brother. This is about you an your brother. And how you ain't got no brains to be crazy if you think he don't like you."

"Some therapy," she said, confused. "Traditionally speaking you're not supposed to insult or belittle the patient. According to Carl Rogers and his theories on psychoanalysis, the therapist, that's you, is supposed to listen and draw out the patient, that's me, rather than confront or challenge them."

"Well, you tell Carl Rogers to shove it up his ass, cuz my patient thinks being humped against a wall 'till she bleeds is a form of cure."

River smiled. He was actually listening, and talking about it and not just wading through it while it made her angry was quieting things a little. She kept him awake until three that morning, after which he fell promptly asleep (both from boredom and mental exhaustion trying to figure out half of what she said). River kissed his cheek and left him.