Disclaimer: See chapter one.

A/N: Small note – though I've previously kept the worst of the cussing to Mandarin, even PG-13 movies are allowed one F-word (used in a nonsexual manner), so this is where I used mine. Just so ya know an' all, of course. Oh! And I'm in no way affiliated with Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young.

Brompton Cocktail

Chapter Twenty-Six

It's finally done. Jayne was having a little trouble wrapping his head around the thought. Serenity was shut down for the night, and he stared up at the life-sized nudie pic taped to the ceiling above his bunk. The woman bore an uncanny resemblance to Kaida, save that Kaida had a green and blue dragon tattooed around her right thigh – the woman in the photo didn't have so much as a birthmark marring her skin. It's finally fuckin' done. Di yi was the one I managed to shoot that day. Di er was the hundan during the war. Di san was Stitch. Di si ge was Pikerton. Di wu was Jonsey. And Lionel makes liu. All six counted. All six paid.

He felt a strange, fluttery sensation start up in the back of his stomach. Now, it's my turn. Jayne closed his eyes, a small smile on his face. Just get me home, God. One last thing left ta do. Gotta tell Ma it's finished. I know ya ain't the sort who grants men like me's prayers, but this ain't for me. Lemme be the one ta tell Ma it's finished. Please just get me home alive. His breathing slowed and he tipped over the edge into sleep, one last thought piercing the dark behind his eyelids. Gladly take any punishment ya need me to, walk right inta hell wi' m'head held high, just lemme tell Ma they ain't no threat no more, that they been put down.

For the first time in fourteen years, his sleep was undisturbed by either nightmares or memories of happier times.

Serenity was already in the black by the time he woke. The chrono next to his ladder indicated he'd slept for close on to fifteen hours. It was the longest sleep he could remember having since his last growth-spurt when he was seventeen. Even with the last dose of Opianax having long since worn off, Jayne felt… good. Certainly, his hands were numb enough that they no longer pained him anyway, but the pain had migrated to the overstrained muscles in his back and shoulders – without a shirt on, he looked like a walking, talking bruise – with additional songs of agony coming from his kidneys and from his stomach and liver, high soprano notes shrieked from the tips of his nose and ears, with steady bass thrumming coming from his eye sockets and percussive tambourine rattles from his toes. But though he felt it all, he simply didn't care. Under it all, despite it all, he simply felt good.

Without realizing it, he started humming under his breath as he climbed to his feet and stripped out of his t-shirt and boxers. He tended his bladder and noticed the output was stained with blood. Just more proof I didn't really need no more. Need ta let Simon know, though. He's got ta keep me breathin' long enough ta see Ma. He ran a sink full of hot water and cleaned up, daydreaming about a long, hot shower. When I get home. Once finished, he pulled on clean boxers and a pair of jeans, pairing it with his striped button-down. He rolled the sleeves to his elbows, then looked at himself in the mirror. Easily seeing past the bruising under his eyes and the redness of his ears and nose, he actually recognized the person looking back at him as the stupid kid he'd once been, back when the most worrisome thing he had to think on was whether or not he'd forgotten his anniversary. Well, he stroked his goatee, almost. His hair was the longest it had been since then, too, curling over his forehead and tickling the back of his neck. He reached for his razor. Glad I ain't got it cut. Ma won't have no trouble recognizin' me.

With the bristles scraped away, he brushed his teeth, then drained the water from the sink and slid it back into the wall. He used the hypospray, making sure to set the doses for each medicine at the somewhat higher levels that Simon had recommended. As he had before, he paused over the synthetic opiate. He was in pain, certainly, but he wasn't positive he really needed the medication. A feminine sigh echoed through his head. Just take it, sweetheart. I hate seeing you in pain.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, setting the vial into the port. It was more than half-gone already.

Why couldn't ya have been this agreeable when we was still together? Kaida laughed at him, and Jayne couldn't help but add his own chuckle to the mix.

He put the satchel away and waited for the drug to kick in fully. It took a little longer than before, but when it did, his awareness of the pain slipped away. He bounced to his feet and climbed out of his room, the humming becoming actual quiet singing at some point he hadn't noticed. "Find the cost of freedom, buried in the ground," his singing voice wasn't altogether different from his speaking voice, a pleasant, if rumbly, baritone. "Mother earth will swallow you, lay your body down." He headed towards the galley, not hungry in the slightest, but wanting company.

Though breakfast and dinner were, when possible, family-style affairs with the whole crew present, lunch was hit-and-miss, grab-as-you-go. Mal was the only one in the kitchen, sipping a mug of actual coffee they'd picked up on Greenleaf. "Now that's somethin' I ain't heard in a goodly while," Mal commented.

Jayne paused in pouring himself a cup of the strong beverage, his singing halting in mid-word. "What?" he asked.

"You, singin'," Mal clarified.

Jayne blinked. "Huh. Didn't realize. Sorry." He shrugged and filled a mug.

"Don't worry about it, Jayne," Mal said as the mercenary joined him at the table. "Was just surprisin' is all. Ain't heard you sing since that last night we was on Haven."

"Ain't had a whole helluva lot ta be singin' 'bout," Jayne replied.

"So what's got ya makin' all canary-like now?"

"Just in a good mood's all," he smiled. "Goin' home." Somehow, he managed to pack fleece-lined slippers and cinnamon-baked apples and whittling by a winter fire and warm woolen blankets and swimming in the river and watching clouds roll by on a summer's day into just the one word. "Ain't been back since I left."

"How long's that been?"

"Fourteen years," Jayne sipped the coffee. He closed his eyes and inhaled the steam rising from his mug. "Made a promise an' now 'at I finished, 's time ta go home."

Mal took a drink of his own coffee, savoring the flavor just as much as Jayne. "What promise is that?"

Jayne just smiled and shook his head. "Ask Zoë, but not now. Not 'til after I get home."

"I'll do that," Mal said.

"Been thinkin'," Jayne changed the subject.

"Did it hurt?"

Jayne let out a guffaw. "No, an' ya best make nice, else I ain't gonna let ya know what I been thinkin'." He waited for Mal to make a 'go on, I'm listening' gesture. "You're gonna need another set of muscle once ya lemme off on Silverhold, if only ta make sure Kaylee gets her 'scary man discount' at the junkyards."

"Been thinkin' that same thing m'own self." Mal nodded and got up to refill his mug.

Once he'd sat back down, Jayne continued. "You'll wanna look up Miguel Harrison. He's honest an' a good shot – better 'an I am, least at close-range. Afore I come ta work for ya, we run together on better 'an half a dozen crews."

"He ain't like ta stab me in the back, is he?" Mal asked, recalling more than one of Jayne's previous 'coworkers' that he wouldn't have trusted as far as he could throw them.

Jayne shook his head. "Not t'all. Once bought, he stays bought, even if some dumbass hundan offers better pay, run o' the kitchen, an' his own bunk in the middle of a standoff." A wry little smirk twisted his mouth.

Mal was having a little trouble believing Jayne. "What's the downside, then? Sounds too good to be true."

"Well," Jayne stretched the word out. "He has a li'l trouble gettin' work, but it ain't his fault. He don't go nowhere 'thout Shyla, an' there ain't too many crews what'll take 'er on with 'em."

"Okay, who's Shyla?"

"His li'l girl," Jayne explained. "She's…" he thought hard for a minute, "gorram, she's twelve a'ready. Ain't really his, but her town was hit by reavers when she was a baby not more 'an a year old. She was the only survivor. Miguel 'dopted 'er."

"Helluva downside," Mal complained. "Don't need kids underfoot."

Jayne shrugged. "Ain't like that, Mal. Last crew we was together on, she was nine. Made herself right useful, doin' mendin' an' cleanin' an' cookin' an' such. She's also pretty damn good with a .22 rifle, too. Ain't squeamish like most girlfolk can get, an' knows better an' ta talk 'bout business matters ta anyone not on the crew. Really think ya ought ta give 'em a chance."

Mal considered it. "I'll think 'bout it. Where would I find this Miguel Harrison?"

"Rents a flat on the Skyplex when he ain't workin'."

Further debate on the matter was halted as Simon and Kaylee arrived chatting at one another, only to fall completely silent for half a heartbeat on seeing Jayne. "Shensheng de gou shi," was managed in stereo by the pair, though for very different reasons.

Jayne had been avoiding Kaylee the past few days, and as a result she hadn't gotten a good look at him in a while. "You look like absolute go se, Jayne! What the hell happened to you?"

Simon was more accustomed to Jayne's haggard and beaten-looking visage, but had noticed two missing details about the man that were just as jarring in their own way as seeing the damages the virus was doing to the mercenary. "Are you barefoot? And you shaved your goatee?" He'd never seen Jayne barefoot outside of the infirmary before, and only then if whatever wound needed tending required he remove his boots.

Jayne looked at the similarly-shocked expressions on the faces of the doctor and the mechanic and couldn't help himself. He laughed. Mal had to join in, though he had the good grace to try to hide it. When the laughter finally worked itself out, Jayne grinned at Kaylee. "Know how I look," he said. "An' no, I ain't been doin' anythin' I shouldn't ta get this way. How's about ya round up ev'ryone else for me? I got a few things what need sayin'."

Kaylee glanced over at Mal. The captain nodded and made a tiny 'go ahead' motion. She sprinted for the bridge. In short order, Kaylee's voice was heard over the intercom. "Everyone's presence is requested in the galley."

During the five minutes it took for everyone to drift in from the other parts of the ship, Jayne finished his coffee and poured himself another one, nearly dropping the pot on his foot when a dizzy-spell hit him. He quickly returned to his seat. The tickle in the back of his throat, the coughing that had been triggered by the grain dust that had yet to go away – would actually grow worse as time passed, if Simon was to be believed – started up and he hacked bloody phlegm into a handkerchief. By the time it stopped, everyone was sitting at the table, splitting attention between Kaylee and Mal.

Jayne cleared his throat and took a long swallow of his coffee. "Mal ain't the one who called ya," he said, and all eyes turned to him. "I got a 'nouncement ta make. Our pilot here," he nodded at Oriole, "knows we're headin' ta Silverhold next – an' I'd take it as a personal favor if ya could get us there quick as possible – but only a coupla ya know why. The job we just done on Three hills was m'last. I'm goin' home."

Kaylee gasped, "No! You can't be leavin' us! Cap'n, tell him he can't be leavin' us!"

Mal grimaced. "Kaylee, that ain't up ta me."

"Course it is! You're the cap'n!"

"Kaylee," Jayne interrupted her before she could go on a tear. "It ain't Mal's decision. 'S mine." Seeing the mechanic was ready to argue the point, he held up a hand to silence her. "Take a good long look at me, Kaylee-girl. I ain't got another job in me, an' ev'ryone here can see that. Would ya make me die out here in the black when there's a chance I can see my mother one last time?"

"No," she repeated, and everyone could tell it was more of a general denial at the situation than in response to Jayne's question. "Simon!" she turned to her boyfriend. "You need ta make him better! You're the doctor, so drag his pigu down to the infirmary and fix him!"

"Kaylee," Simon sighed. "I can't. D'you hear me? I can't. Jayne's sick, it's ruby fever, and there's nothing I can do about it but make him comfortable, which I'm already working on. He can't be fixed."

"No!" she shouted it this time, then sprang from her seat and ran from the room.

"Go after her, doc," Jayne ordered. "Try an' explain – I'll drop by later an' talk once she's calmed down some."

Simon was already halfway out of his seat before Jayne finished. "Sorry," he said, then hurried after his girl.

Jayne didn't get the chance to speak to Kaylee until the next day. Knowing how important family was – and having a few words with Simon who told her just how serious Jayne's condition was – had Oriole up their speed to a full burn, so Kaylee was staying in the engine room, monitoring things.

Jayne headed down the corridor, having to stop twice as dizziness and coughing interrupted his progression. "Kaylee?"

Kaylee sniffled and looked up at him from where she sat in her hammock. "Jayne…"

He leaned against the wall, but Kaylee sat up and shifted over. She motioned for him to join her on the hammock. It didn't help much with the hallucinatory motion caused by the Opianax, but it did take pressure off his feet, which were rapidly degenerating to a similar state as his hands. She cuddled up next to him and cried onto his shoulder. Jayne gave her a few minutes before shushing her. "Come on, Kaylee-girl. Shouldn't be cryin' none over an old hundan like me."

"You ain't a hundan," she mumbled.

"Sure I am," his tone indicated that he wasn't going to let her argue the point.

"Fine," she said. "But you're our hundan."

"Yeah, guess I am at that."

"Dunno what we're gonna do wi'out you."

"Keep on keepin' on," Jayne replied, lightly rubbing his hand up and down her back. He'd lost nearly all sensation in his hands and could only hope he wasn't being too rough. "Mal'll come up with half-baked plans 'at always go south. Zoë'll make 'em a li'l more workable. Moonbrain'll do that psychic thing and save their pigus at the last minute, but not afore someone winds up shot – prolly Mal. The doc'll patch 'em up. An' Kaylee-girl'll keep Serenity flyin' so Oriole won't be out a job. An' somewhere in all that, Simon an' ya will get married an' have a coupla kids ta drive Mal nuts, though we both know he'll be the first one in line ta spoil 'em rotten."

Kaylee managed a halfhearted laugh. "Prolly so." They sat in silence for several long minutes. "Are you scared?" she asked in a small voice.

"Of dyin'?"

Kaylee nodded.

"Nah. Ain't been scared o' dyin' in a good long while. Mercs like me, we don't tend ta live long enough ta retire. Came ta terms with it a long time ago. Nah, I ain't scared o' dyin' any. Don't much care on the how, though, an' 'at's God's honest truth of it."

Kaylee hugged him a little harder. "Don't like it much m'self."

"I know," Jayne murmured, still rubbing her back. "I know."

A/N2: Ah, the niece and her SO and their sprog are sleepin'. I should be, too, but I always was a night-person. I just hope the sprog is well-behaved. I can sleep through just about anything but a crying baby.

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