The Impossible Dream

Jayne was startin' to think that lettin' the sexin' get started that day in the cargo bay had been a bad idea. Because since then, he hadn't seen a thing of River unless there were other people around or he sneaked it. And he didn't like the sneakin'. He didn't like her pushin' him away when he knew she wanted what he wanted. He didn't like the rest of the crew not knowin' his feelings for River, and he didn't like that nasty fake cheese they'd had with lunch, and he just didn't like life in general.

The only good thing, really, was that Darwhen was back. In the few hours since her return he'd decided that she wasn't actually any more annoying than most people tended to get after too much knowin' of 'em, and for some gorram reason she liked him. When she was gone it hadn't felt like everyone who should be on Serenity, was here.

And even that track of thought led him back to the place he didn't want to go. Because River wanted Darwhen. But she'd need help, according to her brother. And here he was, thinkin' on an actual long-term consequential relationship with someone he wanted to be sexin', – and the kid was thrown into the deal. The last thing he'd ever expected to be was a pa.

'Course, he'd never expected to love no woman an' want to keep her, either. And he wasn't too upset about that happenin'. Or at least he wouldn't be if River would quit bein' so gorram skitty about it.

Another thought that pulled him up short, just for a minute, was that he sure didn't want River choosing to hook up just because she wanted help with the kid. But he discarded that fear soon enough; gorgeous woman like her could get better than him for a parenting partner, he reasoned, so prob'ly he shouldn't be worryin' about that.

He was startin' to confuse himself, and he wanted to see River. He wanted to see her, and so he went looking. Later he thought maybe deciding to do that right after a game, without stopping to clean up or stow the ball, was another bad idea. It likely didn't help his case, anyway.

She was in the galley alone, bent over a drawer; he stopped to take in the view. He knew when she knew he was there because she straightened, closed the drawer, and made for the door. He grabbed her arm and didn't let her go.

"You gotta stop runnin' sometime," he said quiet as he knew how. He hoped she could tell just how childish he thought she was being. River stalled, even quit trying to get away from him, and he turned her loose because he wanted to hold a damn sight more than just her arm.

"Why you doin' it, all this running?" he demanded. She gave him a look like he was the dumbest creature ever.

"Hey, I'm not stupid," he objected. She was really starting to get him pissed.

She tilted her head back and her hair brushed her in places he wanted to touch. He took another step back, to avoid temptation, and clenched his hands around the ball he held. He needed to concentrate.

"No, you're not stupid, Jayne. Stupid is don't learn from mistakes. Stupid is never change your point of view for any reason." She fell quiet, thinking something through. He didn't speak, couldn't interrupt. She only had three more words, though.

"But I'm broken."

When it seemed that was all she had to say, he did talk, loud and annoyed.

"You think you're the only one? Ain't nobody on this boat whole. Mal's lost his faith. Inara lost her identity. Kaylee can't keep neither her sunshineyness nor her pains private, and Zoë is stoic so she don't have to cry." The words came fast and furious, and River stared at him, eyes very round.

"And you?" Her voice was a breath, sharp contrast to his harshness.

"Me … well …" His cheek muscles scrunched, and he tried to shove aside his anger because he had to make her understand. He bent his knees experimentally a few times, to remind himself his body was still there amidst all the thinkin' he was doing.

"I'm a survivalist first an' foremost."

River nodded. "It's a good way to be."

"Oh, yeah," Jayne snorted, "The best. You can see all it's brought me. Sometimes … I think I've missed some other things, bein' that way. Not that I'd change it!" He added hastily. "Just that – it's maybe not the best way. For everyone. For family people."

His fingers flexed on the ball he held against his hip. He glanced down at it, gave it a few bounces, and wanted to lighten the atmosphere. Dumpin' all his anger on her weren't gonna help none. "I'm not sayin' I'm, what, afraid of commitment. Don't you see this lovely committed wife I got? Only woman I've been with in the last 10 … 20 years. Mr. One-Clean-an-Married-t'-Me-Woman Man, that's me." He risked a glance down at her.

She was staring up at him like he was the crazy one. Well, that was better than the staring-down-Vera's-barrel look. So he went ahead and ran with the nonsense.

"And surely you've noticed these fine five kids'v mine I've committed to raisin'?" He quirked an eyebrow and threw an arm out around at the empty galley. River punched his arm. He lurched back a step from the force of it.

"Yeah," he nodded, able to grin now, rubbing an area that'd be bruised come morning, "mighty fine kids. Learned all their manners from me. Littlest girl, uh, Lucinda, she holds her pinky out all fine 'n dainty when she uses her chopsticks." River's eyes were narrowed. She was biting her lip, prob'ly to keep from telling him that wasn't how chopsticks should be held. He let the ball drop again and started to dribble it. He was on a roll.

"My eldest boy, he can cross his legs right above the knees just's if he's got no man parts at all. Learned that from his uncle."

Now he heard what sounded suspiciously like a smothered chortle. He bounced the ball harder. "Got another, he growed up to be a doctor, top one percent, y' know. I was able t' put him through school because I'm committed to this here secure 'n upright job. Our middle girl, she lives up on a hill all fancy. She invites her ma 'n me over for dinner with fine linens 'n candles 'n silver, an' we go, because a committed man does that for his family." He risked lookin' at her again, hoping to share laughter. Instead he met such deep yielding softness that now it was his heart that took a punch and lurched about in his chest.

She took a step in real close and leaned her neck back, face up toward his. He was tight and hard with want instantly, he was that wound. And he had to fight it, because she looked all caught up in a dream web of some kind; one he'd spun.

"And the littlest one," she breathed, "he has eyes like the deep and a smile like the sun and his mama can't ever refuse him anything when he asks her with pleading because he's so much like his papa."

Jayne let the ball drop quiet beside him and roll away. His breath left his lips slowly. He lifted a hand toward her, then stayed it, not wanting to scare her into not-closeness.

"Won't ever happen. I don't plan to have kids. Not … you know, genetically." He swallowed, hoping that dose of reality didn't scare her away either. "But there could maybe be one girl." His voice had somehow become a hoarse whisper. "One girl who don't look like neither one of her parents, but she's good and true with sweet black eyes and crazy-ass hair an' her mama's don't-mess-with-me attitude, that her papa hopes she never loses."

River's eyelids had drifted down. "It's a good dream," she murmured to Jayne's chest. "So much hope …"

"It's a right dream. It could be more."

'I don't …" Her eyes reappeared. There was intense uncertainty there. Jayne sighed, and took a slow step back. This kept up, she was gonna drive him straight to the looney bin without no pit stops.

"I want the reality," she told him brokenly. She turned, swift and sudden, and flit bird-like down the corridor and then up into the reaches of the catwalk, seating herself with legs hanging down, crossed at the ankles. He followed, leaving the ball behind, knowing if she truly wanted away from him she'd have gone until he couldn't get to her.

They sat poised an endless moment, she anxious grace, he awkward calm. But he couldn't keep that pose forever.

"Well, then? What's the problem?" He tried to say it gentle, but he was so damn frustrated, and in pain if'n he was honest. "If it's not our ages, our backgrounds, our interests, our plans, our frie- fami- our people – and I know them ain't it -- why won't you just go for it?"

River's throat moved as she swallowed. She was fronted out toward the cargo bay, not even sparing him those glances from her eye corners like he'd learned to look for. And while he looked, her head tilted forward, all that hair she'd never cut hanging so that even her profile was hid from him. Jayne sighed, and braced his hands to lever himself up off the catwalk. But then she spoke after all, soft and low.

"You put your eyes on me and I spark. If you lay on hands … I'm fire, Jayne. With anyone else, I would be in control. But with you"- she stopped.

Jayne was a statue, frozen into the fall of her hair and the shake of her voice. He didn't speak, for fear she wouldn't. And he needed to hear her admit out loud that he did to her what she did to him.

She started again, head lower than before. "Someone calm and bland, I will survive. He would survive. With you, the feelings … amygdalla … I'm not equipped to handle a one true love. I would be consumed. There would be destruction. You would hurt."

I hurt right now, he thought, and the thought brought back all his resentment at what she was doing to him. But there had also been, what had she said?

One true love. Belatedly, he caught it, and caught his breath. His heart snagged on that phrase and wouldn't let it go.

Suddenly River's head turned and her eyes impaled him. "Don't you understand?"

Well, she'd asked. So he frank told her.

"No." Except for the part about burnin' –he understood that well enough. It had been happening to him for months.

There was wet desperation glazing her bearing. "We would be all," she moaned. "And then we would be nothing."

Jayne's throat was tight as he tried to work that out. He had to convince her, now while she was willing to talk about it, but how could he when he couldn't even understand the problem? Couldn't she see that what was in the pot was worth the gamble, here?

Oh.

"You don't think I'm worth the risk." His voice was flat and quiet. That amount of pain couldn't be expressed. He levered his elbows out straight and this time he did get to his feet.

Jayne's prismed form receded away down the stairs while River widened her eyes against the pools they held. That's not what I meant! She cried after him mentally, but didn't call him back. She knew he wouldn't come. And she wasn't sure any more what she did mean. She just knew she was frightened, of losing herself, and ultimately of losing Jayne.

What are you doing right now? It was a question from her own brain, to herself, and she had no answer. For she already felt lost. And she really didn't think she had Jayne, at all.