Another scream, one less mouth to feed. One less pair of hands grabbin' for profits. As nice as that sounded in his head, the simple truth was that at this rate there wouldn't be profits to split. No crew meant no jobs and they were losing crew fast. He paced around the kitchen table, trying not to think of the last person who did that. Just then it seemed a good idea. Too restless to sleep even though he was tired, too frustrated to sit still, too tired to exercise properly. Couldn't shoot the problem, couldn't beat the threat into submission - what was he supposed to do?
Grumbling, he walked in circles. He already missed the briefly amusing comments while Mal was downing coffee in the kitchen but he'd gone off to see who that last scream was for. Didn't matter - it wasn't him. Wash was gone but Mal could fly the ship just fine. None of the fancy maneuvers but enough to get on and off planet without running into things. He wasn't sure what to expect when Zoe woke up. She was normally predictable but no tellin' where a woman's mind would go when she lost her husband. She may sit in a corner and cry - though that didn't sound like something Zoe would do - or she might get violent.
Jayne was hoping for violence, that would be something familiar. Something he could handle. It would be a distraction from a trigger finger that couldn't pull the gorram trigger. He'd have to shoot left handed for a while and while he was fairly accurate, it was an inconvenience. He hated that dream Reaver freak… sneaky bastard…
Waiting.
Waiting was always the hardest part.
Waiting for what? He asked himself yet again. Waiting to die? No one had answers. No one knew how to kill this thing. There was only the waiting.
"The hell with this." He finally snarled and returned to his bed. The doc had said it might be possible to fight back in dreams. They just had to be confident in their ability. Well, he was caught off guard last time - most nights he dreamed of being strong enough to take over worlds. He'd show that hundan what pain was!