Disclaimer: See chapter one.
A/N: Happy reading.
Brompton Cocktail
Chapter Eight
Jayne's eyes slowly peeled themselves open to reveal the inside of his bunk. It was rare that bad dreams didn't visit, and the night before definitely didn't consist of any bad dreams. He couldn't quite remember what he had dreamt about, but the faint scent of cinnamon and apples followed him into the waking world. He stretched, listening to his muscles and bones for any new aches and pains. The only thing that caught his attention was his left shoulder, and that was just an old injury that liked to act up anytime he was dirtside – about two years after leaving home, he'd been shot, a through-and-through, that had left a hole in his shoulder blade the same circumference as his thumb.
Really want a shower, but since we're stayin' dirtside a week, I know Mal's gonna want the tanks flushed afore we go. May as well do that today, get it outta the way. Ain't no sense in showerin' first. He grabbed the stained coverall he used for the really messy work aboard ship from his closet cubby and slid it on over his boxers and bare feet, then put on the same pair of socks he'd worn the day before, along with his boots. After tending his full bladder, he stood next to his ladder and paused. Somethin' I'm forgettin'…? His eyes flicked over his bunk. All his girls were present and accounted for, his bed was made, his dirty laundry stashed away. Need ta see 'bout gettin' that cleaned while we's here. The thought flickered in and out of his head almost too fast to capture. Then his eyes landed on his desk. The strap of the satchel Dr. Baker had given him poked out of the drawer like an accusing finger.
The day before flooded his mind. His shoulders slumped and he sidled over to the desk, falling heavily on the chair. He pulled the drawer open and yanked the satchel out. Never did like needles. Opening the satchel, he stared at the neatly arranged contents for several long minutes. Baker had shown him how to use the injection gun – probably the only bit of gadgetry in the 'verse with 'gun' in its name he hadn't already known how to use. Sighing, he unstrapped it from its place, then pulled the vials of medications and lined them up in order on the surface of his desk. "Red first," he muttered to himself.
The doc hadn't bothered telling him the names of the medications; he knew Jayne well enough that those details weren't important. He did warn him, however, to take care of the labels on the vials. If he ran out, he'd need the names to get more. Jayne slid the vial of medication that looked like really good red wine into the gun, twisted the dial on the back of it to a microscopically-etched '10', then took a deep breath. Come on, ain't gonna get any easier for puttin' off, an' you got more after this. He unzipped the coverall and slid his left arm out. 'The red one needs to go in a vein,' Baker's voice said in his mind. 'The best ones are the ones on the inside of your forearms, but anywhere you can see one under the surface of your skin will do nicely.'
Jayne grit his teeth and pushed the tip of the gun against one of the blue squiggles on his arm, then squeezed the trigger. A quiet snick noise was immediately followed by a sharp sting, only a little worse than a mosquito bite. The gun itself made a very high-pitched whine that meant it was already auto-sterilizing the needle. As had been the case back in the doctor's office, Jayne could actually feel the medication hit his bloodstream. It was a strange warmth that tickled slightly. Not unpleasant, in and of itself, but distinctly unsettling.
He removed the vial of red medicine and slid it into its pocket in the satchel. "Now clear."
He worked his way through each of the medications, hearing Baker's instructions in his mind as he did so. An antiviral and two immuno-boosters and two types of medical plastic, all designed to either try to slow down the bug that he'd managed to land himself with or to mitigate the damage it was already doing. The last of the six vials contained a milky white liquid. It was also the only medicine Baker had provided him that Jayne already knew the name of. Opianax. It was a powerful painkiller, one of the ones that doctors liked to hand out like candy whenever a body had some grievous injury, but tended to screw a person up beyond all definition of the word when the injury was healed.
The vial he held could be sold for nearly three hundred platinum on the black market. But Jayne knew he wasn't going to sell it. Baker had been extremely adamant that he would need it, and probably some day soon, as the grains of glass in his blood increased in number and tore him apart from the inside. But today ain't that day. He returned it to the satchel.
After replacing the bag in his desk, Jayne took a moment to look over his left arm. Five tiny holes were definitely visible, scattered among the ones from yesterday. Gonna need ta figure out somewhere else ta use the gun. Can't keep doin' this an' wearin' my t-shirts an' keep it ta m'self. Ain't nobody's business but m'own. But it looks bad. Don't need Mal spacin' me 'cause he thinks I'm some xiniu junky. He pulled the sleeve of his coverall back on.
On standing, he was hit by one of the side-effects. His room seemed to twist sharply around to the left. Jayne grabbed the edge of his desk and closed his eyes. "Gorram it, Jayne. Slow. You know that already. Slow 'til it wears off." Once the room stopped spinning crazily, he carefully moved over to the ladder and exited his bunk.
It was only just barely six in the morning and Jayne found the galley deserted. Checking the chore-sheet taped to a cabinet he saw that Simon had breakfast duty. Jayne grimaced. Boy still can't cook worth a damn. He poked through the supplies that had been purchased yesterday. No way in hell am I gonna let that kid ruin real food. The groceries were all from the farmers' market at the end of the docks – eggs, ham, berries, apples, bundles of dried herbs, jars of seasonings and jams, carrots and lettuce and peppers and onions. Milk and flour and sugar. A block of cheese. Nary a single can or block of protein in the bunch. No tomatoes, neither. It was only a small flash of disappointment, but then he recalled that River had mentioned they could get tomatoes from Book's old abbey. Jayne mentally put that on his to-do list for the week.
He put the last of the coffee-substitute on to boil, then got to work. Part of the ham and a couple peppers and onions were quickly diced into bite-sized pieces. Half the block of cheese was shredded. A batch of pancake batter was mixed up, complete with the addition of a basket of raspberries. Jayne was just finishing up the omelets when the rest of the crew started drifting in.
"Weren't your day to cook," Mal mentioned, helping himself to the almost-coffee.
Jayne shrugged. "You think I was gonna let Simon ruin real grub?"
Mal let out a snort. "Good point."
"Hey!" Simon protested from his place at the table.
"Shush," Kaylee patted him on the arm. "You know it's true." She speared a pancake off the stack while Jayne sat the platter of omelets next to it. "This is really good, Jayne!" she mumbled around a full mouth, but still managed to get across her surprise.
Jayne shrugged again and fell into his seat. "Ya think all them meals the shepherd an' me did was all his doin'?"
Kaylee blushed a little, then returned her attention to their meal. Simon helped himself to a pancake and an omelet, then echoed the sentiment. "This is pretty good." Jayne glared at him. Simon just stared right back. "I mean, better than normal."
"Rarely got real food on board," Jayne grumbled. "An' when we do, Kaylee tends ta beat us all to the cookin' of it. There's only so many ways ya can take protein an' try an' make it edible." Jayne picked at his own meal. He wasn't particularly hungry. Another of those gorram side-effects. He noticed River watching him closely. "What you lookin' at?" he griped at her.
"You're an onion," she replied, then poured honey on her pancake.
"An' you're still crazy," Jayne snapped back.
Zoë chose that moment to appear from belowdecks. Behind her was the blonde from the day before, a very heavy-looking duffle slung over one shoulder and a guitar case in her other hand. Today, the blonde was wearing a plain brown skirt, knee-high boots, and a thick grey sweater. "What smells so good?" Oriole asked.
"Breakfast," Mal replied. "Pull up a chair an' dig in before it gets cold."
A/N2: I've always thought Jayne was a good cook, though there isn't much in the way of canon to support this assumption.
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