A/N Just to say, I love writing for this series, but as I said at the beginning, this is an 'as-and-when' fic of unrelated one-shots, which means it can go long periods without being updated. I am genuinely sorry if that disappoints anyone, but that's how I best write. Making it something I have to regularly update takes the inspiration out of it for me and makes it feel like a pressure, rather than a joy. I mention this because someone expressed disappointment in a review and seemed annoyed that I was updating another series instead of this one.

I'm afraid that's how my muse works - I'll suddenly get into a groove and start writing loads for a particular fandom. If you've been following this fic from the start, you'll have seen it happen with this story, too.

In the meantime, please be patient and remember I do take prompts ;)

Also, maybe give me a little credit for this one - it's 06.30am - I have literally stayed up all night writing this, because I couldn't leave it alone. :)

This one is for Skateaway, because she is awesome, and because I think she might be a fan of it. And, if you are, Skateaway, to pre-empt you, yes, I have already thought about how to extend it ;)

Hope you enjoy.

Kiss of Death

He recognised her at once, though he'd never seen her face.

The deadliest assassin in the 'verse. Known only as The Weapon.

His victory over that high-ranking wáng bā musta seriously ruffled some feathers for them to bring her in.

He couldn't help but feel a little proud of that.

Success always came at a cost, and you didn't found the best gorram merc unit in the star system without attracting some attention.

He'd been doing well in the business, gaining a reputation for brutal efficiency and high skills across a spectrum of weaponry. But it had been meeting and joining up with Brains, as he semi-affectionately called him, that had really made things take off. (He flat refused to call him Mr. Universe, the name he'd given at their first meeting. Sounded fruity.)

They'd crossed paths on Persephone where Jayne was cooling his heels after the Feds had slapped him on a no-fly list.

Half-starved and half-soft in the head, Brains was still the smartest person he'd ever met. Even after a Fed had taken violent exception to him hacking his personal account and leaking the less than legal ways he liked to spend his credits on the Coretex.

Brains had done that for fun. Though he said the beating he'd taken in payment had been less enjoyable.

Jayne had been trying to buy passage off-planet but no one was willing to run the risk of harbouring a fugitive. Scowling, he'd stomped away. What he needed was a smuggling ship... someone who wouldn't concern himself too much with the law, and who had the space to hide him. So he'd made for the seedier side of the docks - Eavesdown.

He hadn't needed his well-honed tracking skills to realise he was being followed - Brains had made no attempt to hide it. Within seconds, Jayne had had him shoved against a wall, with teeth bared in a snarl and Binky pressed to his throat.

"You lookin' to get cut, boy?"

Brains had just tilted his head and smiled at him. "You lookin' to get off-planet?"

Jayne paused. "What d'you know about that?"

"I know the Alliance has you landlocked. I know data. And I know how to change it."

Jayne sneered. Fēng le moonbrain. He didn't know nothin' beyond an ability to eavesdrop.

"Quit followin' me," he warned, and stepped back, figuring he'd give a little physical reinforcement to drive the lesson home, but paused as he properly took in his would-be assailant's features for the first time.

Something in the way he held himself, something about his eyes, had reminded Jayne of Mattie. The brother he hadn't seen in years.

Brains seemed to take the pause as encouragement and started talking.

Ninety percent of what he said sounded like total gǒu pì to Jayne but after a few minutes he gleaned the gist of it. Brains had claimed he could change his records. Wipe them clean. Lift the landlock. Jayne hadn't been at all inclined to believe him... until he'd shown him the handheld modem he'd lifted from a port official and stuck down his raggedy shirt.

That kind of talent came in handy, so Jayne had ditched his original plan to beat him up and ended up taking the scrawny youth somewhere he could eat.

It was during that conversation he took the decision to keep him.

Best gorram decision he'd ever made.

Admittedly, Brains took some looking after, veering wildly between genius hacker who could make numbers do whatever he wanted, to village idiot who'd forget why he entered the room or trip over his untied shoes.

But it was worth the – sometimes literal – headaches and hassle.

With Brains by his side he'd gone from middle-fry to big time. Working together, they'd accumulated wealth, power and reputation, though most people didn't know their actual names. Just called them The Brawn and The Brain.

It had gotten to the point where Jayne could pick and choose which jobs they'd take on; even take time out to relax. Not that they ever settled anywhere for long - that only made you easier to find, and by its very nature their business meant never staying too long in one place.

There were some downsides to fame.

But there were some big, fat positives too. Like the piles of shiny, shiny money.

Brains mostly spent his earnings on high-tech gadgets and gizmos, which he stashed in various backwaters round the galaxy. Jayne on the other hand had acquired a taste for the finer things in life: the best havanas, hooch and trim the 'verse could offer.

But his greatest passion was still his weapons.

Like the Samurai sword he'd picked up on Sihnon after forging a pass for them to land there. An antique dating from Earth-that-was, it had cost him the better part of his cut from their job there (the one that appeared to have gotten some Alliance bigwig so hot under the collar). 'Course his cut amounted to sixty percent, an arrangement Brains had never complained about, apparently more than willing to let Jayne call the shots so long as he remembered to feed him.

At full-price he couldn't have afforded the sword. Not from one job; maybe not even from three. But his caressing, inch-by-inch inspection had revealed a weakness. An almost hidden flaw within the metal.

As it stood, left untended, the blade would give way. Maybe in a month, maybe in a decade, but sooner or later it would shatter. It was only a matter of when.

He'd haggled, paid the price and taken her back with him. Truth to tell, even if she had remained full price, he would have gotten the money and come back for her. Despite her flaw, from the moment he tested the air with her, she was his.

He called her Layla.

It had taken days of careful polishing, of loving attention, to even begin to restore her to her full potential. But it was time he had gladly given.

The plan had been to only stay on Sihnon a few days, like always, but damn moon-Brains had been so entranced by the gorram 'oceans of light' (apparently they reminded him of something called source code) that he'd wheedled Jayne into hanging round a while.

So while Brains was happily watching the source code and composing new programs, Jayne was working on Layla... and partaking of the other delights Sihnon had to offer. Such as the Guild of Companions.

That night he'd been ushered into a private lounge, offered some piddly chunks of raw fish that passed for food in the upper circles, and told to wait.

She'd entered the room, started walking towards him, and he instantly knew that he'd been set up.

Jayne generally tuned out Brains' techno-babble-speak but certain things stuck thanks to how often he babbled them. One thing he'd burned into Jayne's unwilling brain was that you couldn't 'stop the signal', which apparently meant if there was information to be found, Brains would find it, using his ability to access and manipulate any software to do so. A habit which had led to all sort of interesting factoids.

Brains had made it his business to identify their greatest threats, keeping track of enemies, potential and current, who Jayne then made it his business to take out if they got too close. Quick and quiet... or slow and bloody. It was much the same to him, so long as they were gone. 'Sides, some of them deserved it dirty. Like that twisted whackjob Niska.

It was Brains' probing that first brought The Weapon to their attention. He'd quickly become obsessed with her as wave-talk blossomed and grew, reporting her beauty, her deadliness, her unparalleled abilities, and whispering rumours of what had been done to her. Whispers that her extraordinary skills went beyond the physical.

But no one really knew for sure. Those who met her were generally in no condition to talk about it afterwards, so it was all hearsay and speculation. And there was no trace of her on the mainframe – no public evidence of her existence.

That kind of challenge was like smack to a john for Brains; he'd started chasing down every scrap of information he could find on her. Which mostly meant accessing government files whose firewalls – whatever the hell they were – were apparently the equivalent of the fully equipped, Chaffee armoured flamethrower Jayne had been coveting since his eighteenth birthday.

Brains could access those kinds of files but only in short, sharp stabs. If he hung around longer, he risked discovery. Something that had happened a couple of times and led to them hauling ass 'cross the 'verse to somewhere "off the grid" while he "wiped their virtual footprints", or something.

But those short bursts had led to some mighty interesting tidbits and tantalising hints on The Weapon. Enough to piece some things together.

Enough for him to identify her within seconds.

Jayne might appear lazily relaxed as he leant against the bar, sipping twelve-year old Scotch, but he clocked every feature as she drifted towards him: hips moving with rippling grace, hair a river of inky-black, lips a pouting rosebud.

Perfect porcelain skin.

She wasn't packing, not in that slinky red dress. But then, neither was he - house policy meant he'd left Lux at the door. He still had Binky, strapped to his thigh, but it seemed a shame to slash such a pretty canvas.

She looked like a doll. An innocent, fragile doll. He wondered how many people she'd taken out based on that deception alone. But Jayne saw a little deeper.

She might look delicate, but that soft ivory skin sheathed long, toned muscles, and the way she moved – weight perfectly balanced as she walked. Like an athlete primed for action.

Or a warrior.

But it was her eyes that really gave the game away.

They were beautiful, too. Large and liquid, and a deep velvety brown. But they were cold, lost... dead.

There was no fear there, no uncertainty, but there was no joy either. This was not someone who took pride in their work.

Jayne deliberately focused on her body, her features, her slender, sloping curves, allowing the thoughts that subsequently arose to come to the fore.

She came to a stop in front of him and smiled – a ravishing smile, if it had touched her eyes – then whipped round with terrifying speed, leg slicing up and round with heart-stopping grace as a thinly spiked heel moved to slash across his throat.

If he hadn't been prepared for it, he'd already be bleeding out on the floor.

But he caught her ankle in a vice-like grip and used her momentum against her. She was light and thin as a blade, so it took next to no effort to briefly lift her and whirl her downwards in a tight arc so that she smashed into the ground and her head struck the floor, leaving her half-dazed.

At least, that had been the idea.

The first part happened as planned, but somehow she caught herself before she could hit the floor, one hand making contact as she whipped her legs over to the right and executed a perfect Arab spring to bring her back to her feet.

She briefly met his gaze. He grinned at her. "Let's dance, little girl."

A flicker of interest lit her eyes for a moment, curious and lightly surprised.

But within seconds, they had cooled again; body shifting to a fighter's stance, her hands darted to her long loose hair. Something shimmered briefly in her hand... then launched straight at him, with a second close behind.

Swearing, Jayne dived behind the bar. Those makeshift darts were tiny, which made it pretty ruttin' likely they were coated in something mighty unpleasant. Probably fatal. But their main purpose was to distract him long enough for her to get close. Which meant he had seconds at best. His gaze whipped round the bar, weighing possible weapons.

He came up holding liquor. Just in time to see her push off the ground and somersault through the air towards him. He overarmed a bottle of vodka at her head, aim fast and true.

She twisted! The gorram girl somehow twisted in mid-air and avoided it! he realised in amazed admiration.

Grabbing bottles, glasses, anything close to hand that could serve as a missile, he started lobbing them at her, as fast as he could pick them up. As expected, she was easily able to dodge them, but it kept her occupied whilst he planned his next move.

Ta ma de! The way she moved! Like liquid death. Maybe if he feinted, he could—

He barely turned his head in time to stop the bottle knocking him out.

She'd snagged it out of mid-air and sent it whirring back at him. It struck a glancing blow to his temple, sending a bead of blood down his cheek, but did no real damage.

He snarled a swearword under his breath, annoyed with himself. He'd taken too long, thought too openly. Gorram girl had plucked his intention straight out his head and used it against him.

The rumours were true. She could read minds.

Which meant thinking was a handicap and moving on instinct was his only way to keep her best advantage at bay.

At least, he'd assumed her mind-reading was her best advantage.

Having seen her in action, he was less sure. He was stronger, sure, but she was too ruttin' quick. And the longer this went on, the more it would play to her strengths over his. He needed to end it.

Fast.

And finesse wasn't going to get it done.

Not stopping to think how he was doing it, he worked out two possible paths to reach her, projected one... and chose the other.

She turned to face where she thought he'd be, allowing him just enough time to envelop her from behind in a bear hug, squeezing her ribs tight and driving the air from her lungs.

Her response was immediate and vicious; he winced as she raked her instep down his shin. The sharpened heel opened up his leg. He'd need to bind it soon or pay the price; be damn embarrassing to slip on his own blood.

Meanwhile, her head had snapped backwards, impacting with a dull, painful 'thunk'. The height disparity between them meant she mostly made contact with his chin. She'd likely jarred a few teeth loose and made his eyes tear, but she hadn't broken his nose. Which meant she couldn't drive the cartilage shards back into his brain as had been her intent.

Still, against his best efforts, his slightly dazed senses allowed his arms to loosen, just a little. She immediately leapt free and turned to face him.

Eyes more than flickering now, she studied him with real surprise and suspicion.

"What are you?" The voice was pure Core; the words curt and clipped. But he could hear the uncertainty underneath. The confusion.

"What am I? Girl, I ain't the one attacking innocent citizens like some fēng le robot!"

"You know my moves before I make them. You knew what I intended. You know how to block me." Her head tilted. For a moment she looked… hopeful? "Are you a Reader? Were you at the Academy, too?"

The words meant nothing to Jayne. He snorted. "Only education I had was the one the streets gave me."

She shook her head, more from confusion than denial, he thought, and tried again: "Your tactical knowledge is unusually strong. Your understanding of ballistics, instinctive. Are you a Weapon?" Again there was that strange emphasis that suggested capitals. "Or are you human?"

That gave him pause. The way she'd said it… as if speaking of another species.

Someone had done a real number on this girl. He was surprised at how angry that made him.

She was death encased in soul-stealing beauty. The most exquisite thing he'd encountered his whole damn life.

But she was flawed. Broken. Like Layla with her hidden weakness, liable to shatter at any moment.

"I am human. So are you," he added, with slight emphasis.

She shook her head again, this time in denial, the emotion in her eyes fading, dying. "She is a Weapon."

He cocked his head. "Maybe. But she is also a girl. Most definitely a girl." He leered.

Her face wiped clean of all emotions, as if they'd never been there.

"There is no girl. The girl is dead."

He shrugged. "Move mighty well for a corpse."

The attack came without warning.

She surged forward and he made no move to stop her, as if taken by surprise. In truth, that took little effort – he gorram was surprised. Girl moved faster than a snake.

There was no time to think. But that was okay: he already knew what he was going to do. He'd made his decision within minutes of seeing her, but worked to conceal it.

He allowed her to close in on him, trusting to the fact her hands were empty and no more pins sparkled in her hair. Unless she paused to take off those lethal kickers, she'd have to rely on her body to kill him.

Not that that was entirely comforting.

Her hands shot up to his neck. He'd anticipated that, too, but let them close tight.

He'd spent years building up the muscles there; only someone his size would have the strength to snap his neck. Her zhì hands weren't up to it. Still, didn't mean she didn't have a half dozen other ways to kill him now she'd gotten that close. But it also brought her within reach… and kept her hands busy for that one vital moment.

His own hands shot up, anchoring her in place; he swiftly brought his mouth to hers.

He'd intended the kiss to bruise, a little payment in kind for the blows she'd managed to land, but instead found his lips softly pressed to hers.

A small sound escaped her – a hiss of shock, maybe outrage.

Her foot lashed up between his legs, connected… and the world went white, all the pain in the 'verse concentrated in the burning agony in his groin, before spreading outwards in waves of radiating nausea.

His vision cleared, and he realised he was on his knees. He quickly jerked his head up, self-preservation screaming he locate her at once.

She was still standing, but a look of puzzlement was stealing across her features, and she'd started to sway.

Her gaze met his, a question there, like a confused, trusting child. Her mouth opened as if to ask it… then she sank to the floor.

Even falling she was exquisitely graceful.

A few more seconds of deep breathing and he'd recovered enough to get to his feet. He stepped forward and gazed down with a gloating smile, not for the first time grateful that he'd been brought up on the Rim.

All hail the Goodnight Kiss, a little trick he'd learnt from a whore years ago when he woke buck naked with all the goods to his name gone.

One of the first things he'd done once he'd started amassing his fortune was get some chem-heads working on a transparent version.

Without it, he might not (wouldn't) have won this fight.

Without it, he wouldn't have won his prize.

The smile turned tender.

Bending down, he gathered her into his arms and headed for the door, cradling her to his chest like he did with Vera.

He would restore her; he would make her what she was supposed to be, before those hún dàn had gotten their hands on her.

Jayne Cobb was a connoisseur of weapons. His vastly increased wealth allowed him to purchase only the best and the most unusual. The most beautiful.

He counted them the shiniest, most precious things he owned.

She'd make a mighty fine addition to his collection.

Given time, he would fix her.

fin

Glossary:

fēng le -crazy, loopy in the head

gǒu pì - bulls***; gibberish

hún dàn - bastards

ta ma de - f***!

wáng bā - son of a bitch

zhì - fine, delicate