A/N Merry Christmas, y'all! (I can't pull off "y'all", but I'm going with it.) Sorry that it's been a while since I updated. I've been really busy, but to be honest, I've also been stressed out by writing after getting several anonymous reviews on this story and another one from people who are pissed off when I update a story that isn't the one they're following. To be honest, it put me off writing for a while. I love interacting with readers and will always accept constructive criticism but that's not what these messages are. And the thing is, I don't get paid to write fanfiction. It takes up a lot my time, but I do it because it's fun. If it's not fun anymore, there's no point in me doing it.
Reviews make me super happy, and often inspire me to write more, but maybe please bear in mind that I'm not being paid to do this, so getting mad at me for just following my muse... well, it's not going to make me write any faster. It's just going to put me off.
Enough of that. Hope you've all had a good Christmas, and hope you enjoy this enough to consider it a belated present :)
This one is for Irishbrneyes after her suggestion of a story based around... well, I won't say what, for fear of spoilers, but hopefully it meets the prompt enough for her to get the reference
:)
Big Damn Hero
The Captain was a hero. Always had been. Always would be.
Oh, he might preach 'bout God bein' dead, and how he was a Bad Man, and act like he was all dark and twisty, but truth was, you cut that man through the middle and his innards ran with "do-gooder" like a stick of damn rock.
Jayne, on the other hand, he was what you might call a pragmatist (or what he'd now call a pragmatist – he hadn't even known that word a year ago). He was willing to risk his hide – but only if the price was right: gold, credits or a real shiny weapon.
Even then he was cautious. Driven by calculation rather than feeling. He wasn't the one who rushed into the fray. That fool tended to come down with a bad case of bein' dead. He'd stand on the sidelines – and take the hún dàn out with a scope.
So it was hard to explain why he was currently launching himself front-wise at a fella big enough to make him look normal.
Sure the wáng bā was attacking the Moonbrain, but since when did she need his help? Neither size nor strength nor fēng le skin-eaters was enough to faze her. She was quicker than a snake and twice as deadly.
It was possible in one of her rare-these-days crazy times someone might take her by surprise, but she'd been yammering away clear and cheerful as a bell just 'fore everything had gone to gǒu shǐ.
The floor around her was littered with purple-bellied drones, knocked out or permanently asleep, and not one of those bodies was down to Jayne.
He'd been clear across the room when things started, leaning back against the bar, slugging back his hooch and lazily enjoying the sight of the Moonbrain dancing to music only she could hear. She might be loopier than a snarl of string but, hell, she could move. (Jayne had paused drinking long enough to bare his teeth at a local who was also watching with an expression caught somewhere between scoffing and admiration). Then the soldiers had burst in and Jayne had found himself savouring a show of a different kind.
Ever since Miranda, ever since he saw the fruits of her deadly grace, his perceptions had shifted a mite. River had stopped being just the Crazy Girl, the deadweight that kept dragging their asses into trouble.
She'd shown she was an asset. But more than that, she'd shown she was worth watching.
Whereas for others River's crazy killing ways might make 'em wary, for Jayne, it made her finally make sense. Volatility – another word he'd learned from her – was not something he'd ever be real comfy around, but focused force, precise skill – that was something he could respect, even admire.
(And it didn't hurt none that she looked hotter than a white sun while doin' it.)
He'd ceased bitchin' about her coming on jobs with them. Hadn't even minded being left behind with her, when Mal and Zoë's "associate" insisted they move their business to his lodgings nearby.
'Course, bein' surrounded by liquor had made that particular pill easier to swallow. A contented-like feeling the entrance of the soldiers had hardly put a dent in.
A few seconds' scanning had been enough to get the lay of the land. The Alliance drones were packing stun guns, with an occasional sonic rifle. This weren't no killing expedition; this was a grabbing. And it didn't take an Academy genius to guess who they planned on snatchin'.
Stun guns could be tricky – easy to misaim in the wrong hands, and Jayne Cobb didn't hold purple-belly skills in especially high regard. So as the few patrons and sole bartender dived for cover or ran clean out, he repositioned himself behind the bar, helped himself to a bottle of hooch and watched as River took them out one by one.
Actually, more like three by three.
Purple-bellies in a confined space were like fish in a barrel.
And when the Operative had stepped through the saloon doors, he'd still been unconcerned. True, the last Operative had proved damn hard to kill, but for River, it should have been child's play.
How the hell had he gotten the drop on her?
On top of her skills, River had that uncanny-like ability to Read someone's next move before they made it, something she'd put to good use just now with the soldiers, dispatching the last of them and turning to him, smiling, with eyebrows raised.
He'd waited for her to sense the Operative's presence, to twist and turn, and do her usual Crazy-Girl Fu.
It was only when unease began to flicker through his mind at the hún dàn's growing closeness that she'd suddenly gasped and pivoted, as if finally realising what was behind her.
At this point, his hand dived for Lux.
A potentially lethal Operative coming at them with the Moonbrain not firing on all cylinders? Well, that had officially moved them into "threat" territory. A threat that could spill over onto Jayne.
Others might have waited to see what the man's intentions were.
Others weren't Jayne.
In the same motion as drawing his gun, he took aim and fired.
The bullet took the bastard clean through the chest.
He didn't even pause.
The ruttin' sumbitch was wearin' body armour!
In the same instant Jayne realised this, River had shifted her weight on to her back foot, clearly preparing some kinda tricksy move.
A twist of metal and synthetic material lit up round the Operative's brow, highlighting its presence for the first time.
River's movement slowed, then stopped entirely. Her limbs seemed heavy, clumsy. Confused.
Totally un-River-like.
Unimpeded, the Operative's hand closed around her throat.
Qīng wā kào de liú máng!
An Alliance Operative sportin' body armour that made him near unkillable and wearin' some kind of techy gǒu shǐ that was messin' with River's mojo?
This was all kinds of bad news.
Caution pointed out he should hold back and wait until he had a clear headshot.
Self-preservation whispered not to bother and just get the hell out of dodge.
River still had her back to him, but at that moment her whole body slumped as if in total despair.
The Operative tightened his grasp and lifted her clean off her feet; she dangled from his wrist like a rag doll.
The next thing he knew, Jayne had launched himself over the bar towards them.
Jayne had heard all about the Operative on Miranda; how deadly he'd been with a sword; how he'd almost killed Mal.
As he sailed over the bar, the new Operative coming more and more into view, he could clearly see the sword currently sheathed at his side.
It seemed a fair bet the new guy would prove just as troublesome with it.
Good thing Jayne was never fair.
His feet hit the ground, and before the Operative could even register the sound, he used the momentum to push forward, going one better than the man had with River as he circled his neck with both hands and exerted their full force. That action alone wasn't enough to kill him; the body armour protected his windpipe from being crushed. And it wasn't quite enough to make him drop her neither – hún dàn was too well trained for that. But the crucial part was the effort it would take for him to keep hold of River while having the breath squeezed out of him – an effort that proved enough of a distraction he didn't see Jayne's knee coming.
Funny thing about body armour: it was handy as hell if you took a bullet – not quite so handy if you took a dirty blow to the crotch.
The armour spread the impact enough that he might still be able to father mini-Operatives one day, but there was enough force left to drive him to his knees, mouth falling open in silent agony.
Even then he didn't release River. She fell to the floor with him, wide-eyed but unmoving.
Jayne quickly followed up the blow with a roundhouse kick to the head (one he'd learnt from watching the Moonbrain) and the bastard finally, finally let her go, slumping to one side.
She didn't seem to realise he'd released her, though; she remained on the ground, curled in on herself and shivering.
Jayne paused, considering.
The Alliance techy tiara, or whatever the hell it was, apparently did more than just block her Reading. It had scared her, maybe hurt her... Brought on one of her crazy episodes.
Images of the brawl in the Maidenhead flashed through his mind; his crotch winced in memory.
He should keep well clear of her.
A second later, he crouched down beside her, reaching out with a tentative hand. Like he might with a wounded animal.
Strike that, he wouldn't ever be crazed enough to approach one of them without being sure he'd disabled it first.
Yet here he was…
His hand made contact with her shoulder. "Girl…?"
She uncoiled like a spring, quicker than he could stop her (Gorramit, where had those reflexes been five minutes ago?), but while uncomfortably tight, the arms and legs that wrapped round him didn't hurt and didn't seek to. It was more like a terrified animal – a loyal pet this time – burrowing in for comfort.
He fell back a little under the weight, eyes widening with something like panic as he realised she was crying.
Just as he registered this, she buried her face in his neck.
Hell, no.
Jayne Cobb weren't no sponge.
He got to his feet, figuring she'd slide off him; her feet touched the ground, but her arms remained tightly latched.
Her crying sounded painful. Soft, but like she was struggling to breathe.
It made him pause midway to prying her off, those gasping little breaths. Like her body hadn't got the message that the danger had passed.
It reminded him of younger siblings waking from bad dreams. Of their own accord, his arms wrapped around her and began to gently rock. It had the same effect it had on younger Cobbs; her breathing calmed and slowed. But the closeness of her... the sweet, fresh scent and the slim curves pressed against him… well, they conjured feelings Mattie sure never had.
He found himself patting her back. "There, there?" It came out a question.
She nuzzled deeper in, murmuring something he couldn't make out. Her hot breath huffed against his skin.
The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly made their presence felt. He'd always been sensitive there, and the girl's touch seemed to be extra… sensitisin'.
After a moment he cleared his throat uncomfortably. His mind was turning to notions outside of comforting, and his body was always at least six steps ahead of his mind.
He gently loosened her arms, providing some much needed space between them. This turned out to be a tactical error, though, 'cos it meant he could see her eyes.
He blinked at the expression there. Liquid, velvet and inviting as chocolate. Under the sheen of tears and fading fear, there was something new, something warm, something like… admiration…?
"He saved her," she breathed. "He kept her safe."
Jayne cleared his throat again and fell back on something he'd heard the Captain say. "Well, you know, you're on my crew." He tried to shrug his shoulders, but it's difficult when your arms are full of River.
He blinked. When had his hands curled round her back?
Her lips curved with a tenderness that took his breath away. No woman had ever looked at him that way before. Like he was special. Like she trusted him completely. Like he was… he was…
"My hero," she murmured, and her lips met his.
Warmth pooled in his belly, rushed through his limbs, roared its way into every part of him, driven with each pulse of his heart.
His arms wrapped back around her, moulding her to him; his mouth moved on hers. He held her so close she almost felt a part of him. Like that liquid admiration was passing from her skin to his.
Later, when he'd got his breath back, when his knees had stopped buckling, Jayne would add to the list of things worth risking his hide for.
Gold, credits, a shiny weapon.
Or a face-kissin' from River Tam.
fin
Glossary:
Gǒu shǐ - s***
Fēng le - crazy
Hún dàn - bastard
Qīng wā kào de liú máng! - frog-humping son of a bitch!
Wáng bā - son of a bitch