A/N Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed - especially jjmjmay and deanandjo4ever1, who are very kind multiple reviewers, and also to lovely guest reviewers who I can't reply to (hi, Mark!).
If it wasn't clear, this fic, "Sealed with a Kiss", is a collection of unrelated drabbles and one-shots. So if you're looking for a chronological progression... don't ;)
Strictly speaking, this chapter is probably too long to be included in this collection, and should stand alone as a ficlet, but it fits in so well with the title I decided to keep it here :) This story features a River post-Miranda by around two years, so her thoughts are more linear.
Hope you enjoy.
The Beauty of Your Thoughts
"Why won't he?" River asked abruptly.
"What?"
"Why won't Jayne kiss on the mouth?"
They were lying on their backs, gazing at the stars. A recently accepted job to deliver a consignment of medical supplies to a clinic on Angel (which just so happened to be the moon where Inara was currently settled, a coincidence Mal had tried to pass off with wide-eyed innocence that fooled no-one), had gone off without a hitch.
This almost unprecedented occurrence had caused the crew to celebrate, each in their own way.
Mal had taken the bold step of asking Inara to dinner in Iloilo City. It would be interesting to see if their current cordiality survived the meal – it seemed certain one of two things would crack: their tempers or their self-control. Jayne and River had made bets: River said temper; Jayne said both.
Zoë had remained on Serenity, claiming an evening to herself whilst Hoby slept was untold luxury and that, these days, her idea of a good time was more than an hour's sleep in one sitting.
Kaylee and Simon had slipped away somewhere… River deliberately didn't linger on what they might be doing.
She understood these things much better these days.
So that left River and Jayne.
Ordinarily, River could apply a very simple algorithm with respect to Jayne and celebrating, with a finite number of outputs, ranging from Jayne falling over from inebriation, Jayne falling over from a punch to the face, Jayne falling into a prostitute's bed, or some combination of the three.
But not this time.
Jayne had harrumphed as various Serenity crew members scattered in varying directions; River raised her eyebrows at him in inquiry. They both knew what the other was thinking.
At twenty River wasn't technically old enough to drink in bars; an Alliance regulation that was rarely applied in the Rim, but cropped up more often as you drew closer to the Core. They wouldn't know for sure if a bar upheld the law till they tried, but it wasn't worth the risk of drawing attention from the authorities. They might not be Alliance themselves, but this far in, there were bound to be sympathisers. Sympathisers who might have heard of a certain Firefly…
Jayne's gaze longingly travelled toward a nearby watering-hole; it was just the sort of dive he liked to frequent. His gaze travelled back to River.
"Gorramit," he muttered. "Stay here," he commanded, then shouldered his way into the saloon.
Several minutes went by, and River started to wonder if one of the algorithm's outputs had already occurred. Then Jayne reappeared, carrying a bottle of whiskey.
"You deserve to celebrate too, Moonling," he commented. "But there ain't no ruttin' way in hell I'm celebratin' sober."
And he wandered away from the settlement with River happily trotting in his wake.
So that was how they'd ended up communing with nature, under a midnight sky, slightly inebriated.
Jayne had bogarted most of the whiskey, claiming he was bigger and therefore needed more, but enough had passed River's lips for the world to be spinning ever-so-slightly faster than usual, but in an oh-so-pleasant way.
River was used to the world spinning, but it wasn't normally pleasant. (Spinning, twisting, whirling spirals…Down, down and down; worst of all carnival rides, impossible to disembark.)
Thinking about the celebration algorithim and its various outputs, River found herself focusing on the third one and Jayne's curious attitude towards women and kissing. Forgetting for a moment that he wouldn't be privy to the thought process which led up to it, she had asked her question.
"What gorram business of yours is that, Moonbrain?" Jayne said gruffly, but the words lacked real bite. He was still ornery as all get-out (as he would say), but over the years, since Miranda, the impossible – according to the rest of the crew – had happened: he and River had reached an understanding.
With Zoë's increasing girth, and later, gurgling copper-haired infant in tow, Simon had had to reluctantly concede that River was needed when they went out on task. That, in fact, she was one of the best assets they had with her ability to Read the room and capacity for controlled stunning violence. (One of the few good things to come out of Miranda was that hard-won control. Imperfect, but present.) Much to everyone's surprise, Jayne had accepted this with a minimum of bitching and complaining about liabilities and crazy moonbrains, and then seamlessly accommodated River's presence on the team.
He had quickly learnt to use her as a barometer for trouble ("Crazy's better than a gorram bloodhound when it comes to scenting a job 'bout to go bad", he'd commented once). Over time, they had developed a sort of language of their own – a shorthand of words and gestures when they were in a tight spot, or looking to deceive, or even amused by someone's stupidity.
Like she once had with Serenity's engine, its humming sound cradling and comforting, River sought the mercenary's company more and more.
Spinning, twisting, whirling spirals… A vortex sucking her in. Spiralling down, down, down… That had been River's life for so long, her reality both physical and mental. River had had enough of circles, of circular thinking, of no way out, to last a lifetime.
Jayne thought in lines – wonderful, straightforward lines.
Being around him made things simpler, made River feel simpler. Being around another weapon made River feel like just a girl.
Want, take, have.
That was Jayne's way.
If he was hungry, he ate.
If he was angry, he punched.
If he was lusty… Well.
And if he was asked a question, so long as there wasn't money involved, he gave an honest answer.
Usually.
"I tole you – you kiss 'em on the mouth you end up like Mal: unconscious, possibly butt-naked, with all yer worldly goods snuck out from under you."
"Statistically unlikely – that poison is rare. It only grows on three planets in the known 'verse. Tell another story, Jayne." River's tone was wry.
Jayne was silent, looking belligerent.
River smiled – his thoughts were screaming loud. The shape of them and colour, if not the actual words. (River got a better Reading with physical touch.) Right now they were a mushrooming cloud of deep pink.
Jayne was embarrassed.
Touched by his emotions, River regressed a little: "The girl won't judge the boy – the girl is just curious. The girl promises not to tell the others nor make fun after the boy has told."
"It's on accounta my Ma," Jayne suddenly blurted.
River waited, then prompted: "What did your mother say?"
"She said that kissin'… kissin' is special. That when you kiss a girl, you make a gift of ya heart and you take hers. That it's a promise 'tween the two of you. She said I should never kiss a girl 'less I was willin' to keep that promise." He glared at River as though daring her to mock him. "I ain't never broken a promise to my Ma, and I ain't about to start now."
River smiled. "It's a good promise to keep." She rolled on her side until she was tucked up against him, cheek resting on his bicep, head nestling in the curve of his neck, contentedly breathing in the well-known scent of leather and dust, and the earthy tang that was Jayne's alone. Like the unwavering beat of his heart, like the streamlined nature of his thoughts, it calmed her, grounded her, kept the buzzing, jagged thoughts at bay.
Used to this move from her, Jayne retained his pose, arms tucked under his head, gazing up at the night sky.
They lay in companionable silence. Those well-honed muscles were relaxed for once, firm but pliant beneath her head. Drowsing and off-guard, an errant thought from Jayne, razor-sharp in its skin-to-skin clarity suddenly resounded in River's mind.
I wouldn't mind kissin' River
River froze in surprise.
Deliberately pushing her senses out more, she probed at Jayne's thoughts (this was the height of bad manners and not a step that River would usually take, but on this occasion – she borrowed from Jayne's vernacular since Core idioms didn't do justice to her feelings – it ruttin' well warranted it). But all she could pick up was the warm, steady blue he always gave off in her presence, deepened with drowsy contentment, and swirling through it in purple curlicues... wistfulness? Why was he feeling wistful?
River exhaled in frustration, her breath whispering over his upturned face. And that was when she saw it.
A sudden shaft of deep crimson red.
Desire.
Even as she watched, it sank back down again, sublimated into the blue. The purple briefly increased, but dissipated.
River blinked in surprise, heart beginning to race, muscles tightening with sudden tension.
Always attuned to River's body language, Jayne spoke in a rumbling burr: "Y'alright, River-girl?"
River was not alright. River's heart was pounding and her thoughts were careening. She hadn't felt this disorientated in a long time.
She sat up, and Jayne followed suit, a slight frown of concern drawing his brows together.
"Y'alright, Moonling? You hearin' somethin'… bad?" The word "Miranda" hung unspoken in the air, its memories heavy.
River almost laughed wildly at the irony of that question.
"Not bad, not bad… just... new. Brand new data. The girl must assimilate. The boy needs to be silent so the girl can assimilate!" She spoke a little desperately, fingers rubbing at her temples.
Jayne muttered to himself, but obediently went quiet; she could feel soft spikes of anxiety coming off him in waves, along with frustration at being commanded to silence. A few swearwords slipped through; angry orange shards.
It was too much, too much to assimilate. River began unconsciously wringing her hands.
Jayne's hands gripped them, halting their frenzied movement.
She felt the steady throb of his heart through their joined fingers and saw the bright worry in his searing blue eyes. "River, do you need me to get ya brother?"
It was a mark of his concern that he even suggested this. He always objected vociferously the few times Simon proposed that River might benefit from a soother. He had been her most vocal supporter when she had declared she didn't need drugs any more. (Of course, Jayne-speak meant that this support had run along the lines of "Ruttin' hell, Doc. Moonbrain don't need none of that chemical gǒu shǐ no more – all it seems to do is make her more crazy, anyhow – and less aware that she's bein' so. To my way of thinkin', I'd rather she was right in the head when she decided to attack me.")
"River?" Jayne asked again, worry creeping up a notch.
River didn't answer. Kneeling before Jayne, hands enfolded in his, she stared into his eyes.
Her mind, her greatest tool, her greatest weakness, continued to assimilate all available data, even as her body, her greatest weapon, her greatest downfall, began to respond to Jayne's proximity and to his touch.
Jayne was her champion; Jayne was her partner in crime; Jayne was her mainstay.
Jayne's eyes were so blue; Jayne's hands were so strong; Jayne's body was so beautiful.
Jayne grounded her, steadied her, untangled her.
The touch of Jayne's skin was warming comfort; the touch of Jayne's skin was rousing fire.
Jayne pushed her, stretched her, challenged her.
When she was sad, it was Jayne she sought out.
When she was amused, it was Jayne she shared the joke with.
When she was tense, it was Jayne she sparred with.
When she was anxious – when she was lucid – when she was fēng le – when she was bored – when she was joyful – when she was fed-up.
All algorithms led to Jayne.
All the thoughts, all the data, condensed, simplified, consolidated.
Jayne was hers.
She was his.
This was not brand new – they just hadn't known it.
They had exchanged hearts without ever realising it.
It was time to seal the promise.
With hands still joined and heart rock-steady, River leant forward and pressed her lips to his.
Shocked silver flared through Jayne's thoughts, illuminating the steadfast blue in radiant coruscating sparks. The briefly glimpsed crimson suddenly blazed into vibrant life, expanding, consuming; a fiery inferno.
A solitary thought came through, perfect in its singularity, yet heavy with multi-layered meaning.
MINE
River had just enough time to wonder at the beauty of it, the strength of it, then Jayne pulled her into his arms and escalated the kiss to fierce, hungry joy.
At which point, River ceased to think at all.
A/N"Want, take, have" is a line from episode 14 of the third season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, another wonderful Joss Whedon creation.
Glossary:
fēng le – insane, loopy in the head
gǒu shǐ – s**t