mouseovers for translation
A pack of so called ‘criminals’ should be able to come to terms with a couple of deaths, but that ain’t the way things work out. There are too many ghosts on board Serenity and not just the spirits of dead folk neither. Inara’s gone back to the training house and once again her shuttle’s been left all prettied up like a memorial tomb. Zoë’s lost in a limbo world, mourning her husband, slender arms clutched around her empty belly as if she’s carrying a phantom baby. Kaylee and Simon ward off the worst of it by rutting like animals and River plots chains of numbers into the navcom as if she’s mapping out the rest of their lives. Jayne, however, is a more potent problem, hauling a heavy load of bitterness around like there’s a devil riding his back at all times.
Mal copes with the loss of good friends and the sudden departure of an almost-lover. He can be a shoulder for Zoë to cry on when she needs him and is able to keep River occupied, letting her teach him all the skills she’s soaked up to do with piloting. He can give Simon and Kaylee the freedom they need for building a relationship, but he can’t, for the life of him, figure out what to do about Jayne. Unlike him, the mercenary isn’t dealing with the aftermath at all well. As time has gone on, Jayne's been heading for an increasingly dark place; the events on Mr Universe’s station tipping him over the edge into angry despair.
~~~
They fuck mercilessly after a job goes south on Athens. Both of them are drunk and when Mal emerges unsteadily from the bathroom, Jayne’s lying in wait for him. The big man pushes him against the wall, feeling him up with dirty fingers, an even dirtier leer on his face, and Mal lands one good punch to that nose before shrugging off his suspenders and turning a speedy 180.
Ain’t no doubt that he needs something to make him feel alive again and this roughness will do for starters.
~~~
More jobs get botched and it’s beginning to seem as if they picked up bad mojo for a passenger while they were on Miranda.
“It ain’t curses nor ghosts,” says Jayne, reading Mal’s mind. “This is all about you, you chùsheng xai-jiao de xiang huo.
“Blame the Alliance if you want to blame someone,” interrupts Mal as Jayne continues to cuss him out in a long stream of filthy Mandarin.
“So it’s the purple bellies’ fault you rutted up the details of this pick up, huh?”
The merc kicks out at an empty packing box on the hold floor and Mal watches it smash into the aft bulkhead.
“Got most of the pay-off,” he snaps. “And anyhow that ain’t why you’re pissed.”
“Oh, so you know what’s going on in my head, Captain.” Jayne’s lip curls into a sneer. “A gorram reader now. Reaver more like.”
The ‘captain’ comes out sounding like an expletive and Mal bristles. “I know you reckon things would’ve turned out better if you’d been the one making the decisions.” He frowns at the bigger man. “But that ain’t up for discussion, just the way ‘skipper of this boat’ ain’t either.”
Jayne stomps up to him, glare aimed square and true, and just for a second Mal’s apprehensive. Turns out he has a right to be when Jayne’s fingers latch on to his throat and begin this slow burning squeeze.
“Never know now, that’s for sure.” The merc spits ice and fire with eyes and mouth. “Never know what the outcome would’ve been if I’d put that bullet through your brain and taken over, way I intended to back then.”
He lets go and strides off up the stairway, leaving Mal to finish off the menial work whilst trying to rub away the red marks that Jayne’s big hands have left on his neck.
“He’s wrong, Sir.”
Mal jerks around. Christ alone knows how long Zoë has been lurking there behind the loading rig. “What d’you say, now?”
“He’s wrong about you being the cause of this. We all agreed what we were getting into after Miranda, Jayne included. You shouldn’t let him push you around like that.”
Mal knows she’s right, but he’s prepared to concede to the mercenary this once. After all they’re all hurting in their own ways and Jayne’s just finding his path out of the woods. “It won’t happen again, Zo,” he says. “I can keep him in his place.”
~~~
They rut harder and more frequently than ever, although Mal ain’t actually certain if he wants it this way. Jayne Cobb’s always been a coarse man and that devil he’s lugging around is adding cruelty to the mix. Yet despite his feelings on the matter, something about this makes Mal hard. He can sense when they’re building up to one of their brutal fucks. Jayne gets angry, calling him out with a vicious tongue, shoving against him, even hitting him on the sly when no one’s about and Mal has no come back other than a thickening piece of meat in his pants.
So yeah, they rut more’n ever and Mal bleeds because of it. Hurt and humiliated, he can barely look anyone in the eye, but that gutful of blistering spunk gives him something to blame that, for once, isn’t personal.
Jayne finishes off with a satisfied grunt then pulls his captain off to a cold climax and walks away, leaving Mal alone to watch his sperm trickle down the side of a shiny metal container. He stares blankly at the insignificant snail trail, wondering again how things have become so very humped.
~~~
“Jayne ain’t right, Sir.”
Zoë places a mug of coffee in front of him and Mal nods his thanks whilst silently contemplating the mercenary who’s being patched up in the infirmary. There’s liquor in the hot drink and the fumes work their way into Mal’s nostrils. Sinuses burning, he coughs fiercely from the unexpected sensation.
“He killed five men today.” Zoë rests her butt on the edge of the table and rubs Mal’s back to ease the muscle spasm.
“That’s what I pay him for.” Mal splutters and laughs and he ain’t quite sure of the reason for the tears which are forming in the corners of both eyes.
“He killed five men that didn’t need killing.”
Scrying into the dark brown contents of his mug, Mal hopes to find an answer hidden there. “Who’s to say they wouldn’t’ve taken down one of us?” he says bleakly.
“Once upon a time you would have recommended a man like that for court martial.”
Mal takes a swig of coffee and surreptitiously wipes away the wetness from his cheeks. He isn’t up to this conversation. He isn’t up to this, period.
Zoë continues, “I understand, Mal. Really I do, but this whole situation is getting out of control. Jayne’s out of control.”
She looks anxious and tired and Mal knows he has to stop depending on her so much. The woman’s just a hair’s breadth away from snapping under the pressure. She’s speaking in this gentle voice that’s totally unfamiliar and he struggles to understand the words, his brain too muddled these days to comprehend what’s happening around him.
“Simon and I have been talking and-”
“This ain’t up to you.” Mal gets to his feet, legs buckling slightly, voice rising. “Serenity is my boat, you hear. You’re no different to Jayne, making decisions behind my back.”
Without another word Zoë leaves the dining area, head shaking solemnly from side to side, and Mal wonders if he’s made yet another mistake. His present judgement is questionable at best, but the thing--the one thing that nobody comprehends--is that it’s still his judgement to make.
His boat. His crew. His choice.
~~~
They fight mercilessly after a job goes south on Greenleaf. Neither of them are drunk and neither of them are hard and it’s only when the barrel of a pistol presses against Mal’s chest that he knows how very wrong Jayne is.
There’s craziness contained in those blue eyes. There’s tears and excitement and confusion. The big man’s half-laughing and half-crying and Mal doesn’t know what words to use to bring him back.
The hiss of the smoothers is a relief and Mal nods slightly to the doctor who’s standing just behind Jayne’s shoulder. It’s easy enough to disarm the mercenary, gun practically falling from lax fingers, and Mal catches him as he collapses forward, bringing him slowly to rest, face down on the dusty ground.
~~~
“I’m sorry, Mal.”
Jayne is utterly penitent and Mal believes him. Still, this has no real bearing on the situation.
“I ain’t gonna do a moon brain thing like that ever again. I won’t take another drop of drink no more neither.”
The crazy has gone from those eyes -- for the time being at least. All that’s left is pain and anxiety and sadness.
“It ain’t just about the liquor, Jayne. I wish it were.” Mal’s secretly been blaming whiskey for every one of Jayne’s misdemeanours since Miranda. The man is a functioning alcoholic--often times not so much of the functioning--but his actions on Greenleaf have proved beyond doubt that drink isn’t at the heart of the matter.
“I’ll be a better man. I’ll make it up to you, way I did after Ariel. Remember, Mal?”
Mal remembers all too clearly and when Jayne pushes into his arms, kissing him with a searching tongue, he kisses back, craving the comfort.
Clothes are tugged free and they fall onto the bed, huddled together with Jayne’s knees raised and his legs hooked around Mal. The rutting is slow and gentle--a pretence of love making--and Mal’s remembering too much now and there’s a deep-seated ache inside of him. When climax hits, he looks down into a scared face and realises that comfort is a one way street and it’s all going in Jayne’s direction.
~~~
“Change of plan, Li’l Albatross. Key in the co-ords for Nova Six and then Paquin.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Mal watches the girl’s fingers dance over the panel. The thing he enjoys most about River is that she doesn’t feel the need to talk constantly. It gives him time to think.
When Jayne first became a member of the crew the man was pretty reticent about his past, but as time wore on he began telling Mal snatches of stories about his family life back home. It sounded pretty good to Mal’s jaded ears. He himself had a different kind of upbringing -- more money and education maybe, but a sight less kinfolk to rely on.
Jayne’s been calmer these last few days, but Mal’s fully aware that it’s only because of the drugs Simon’s been prescribing him. The young doctor knows everything there is to know about smoothing out troublesome situations. Mal’s also been offering up his own kind of remedy to give Jayne the comfort he needs. A temporary fix.
Having considered it over carefully, Mal has no regrets about taking the mercenary home to his family on Nova Six. It’s time he tried out a new gun and there’s always plenty of them for hire in the harbour bars on Paquin.
His boat. His crew. His choice.
DONE