Author's Note: Set after "Ariel," this fic explores the aftermath of Jayne’s betrayal, and he and River come to an understanding.

Jayne wasn't aware of how much time passed as he leaned heavily against the bulkhead that separated him from the rest of Serenity. The hard metal was icy against his sweaty forehead, and his heart thumped a painful rhythm between ragged breaths. Though he could be a little slow on the uptake sometimes, he knew how close he had come to death, to painful freezing and suffocation in the bleak emptiness of space.

The thing was, he understood Mal’s motives entirely. If it were him in command, he would have dealt a swift — or maybe agonizingly slow, just for fun — death to any crewmember who disobeyed him. A man couldn't make a living if he had to constantly glance over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being stabbed in the back.

A surge of anger swept through Jayne suddenly as he recalled Mal's final words, spoken with fierce rage. The next time you stab me in the back, have the courage to do it to my face! Jayne Cobb was no coward; he would easily stand up to a challenge. He'd shown that even today, when he'd fought the Feds who had double-crossed him in return for his own betrayal of the pretentious doctor and his crazy sister.

It wasn't like he'd been betraying Mal, Jayne had tried to explain. He could clearly see that Mal didn't enjoy harboring two fugitives who brought them nothing but trouble and unwanted attention. Maybe Mal was just sore because he hadn't managed to trade the two off for some profit.

Well, Jayne wasn't sorry for what he had done. Dealing with the Alliance, however, had shown him that he needed a roundabout method instead of facing the Allied planets head-on. That done, he could go on his merry way.

He was so caught up in his rare introspective thoughts that he didn't notice Mal approach the airlock. The bulkhead shot upward with a crash, and Jayne stumbled into the cargo bay. He scrambled to his feet and stared silently at the impassive captain, a man who was smaller and not as strong as he, yet who had held the mercenary’s life in his hands and had chosen to give him a second chance. Jayne wasn't entirely without his pride, however; he mustered a glare as he edged past Mal.

He jogged down the hallway to the galley, his breath rasping in his lungs. He hadn't realized how thin the air had become in that tiny chamber; a chill wound down his spine as he again realized how close he had come to certain death. He shook his head violently and swiped a hand over his face to brush away the droplets of sweat that clung to his beard.

He encountered Shepherd Book — who had just returned from his brief respite at a monastery on another planet — outside the galley. Jayne roughly jostled past the preacher at the doorway, ignoring the older man's grimace of pain at the bump to his healing shoulder.

Zoe, Wash, and Inara sat around the large table in the galley, discussing vacation spots; Wash seemed fixated on the subject of "naked beaches." At Jayne's loud entry, they all turned, but the hulking mercenary stomped over to the wall, yanked open a drawer, extracted a protein pack, slammed the tray back, and left without saying a word, his boots clanging noisily on the metal floors of the ship as he hurried to his bunk.

Book entered the galley and was met with three confused gazes. He looked back over his shoulder at where Jayne had gone, then back at the others. "Was there a problem while I was gone?" he inquired.

The three exchanged glances, and Wash shrugged. "Things went okay," he explained. "Got in, got out, stole the goods. Jayne might still be a bit tetchy about getting caught by the Feds, though."

Book's eyebrows shot up; every situation seemed to get stranger and stranger with this crew. "Really," he murmured, wondering what exactly he had missed.

Jayne didn't come to dinner that night. In the galley, Kaylee accepted a plate of bread from Simon, but her thoughts were elsewhere as she noted the mercenary’s absence. "Cap'n," she spoke up, "how come Jayne isn't eating with us? You were with him last. Is he okay?"

"He's not feeling well, Kaylee," Mal answered shortly, turning his attention to his food.

"He must be exhausted from escaping the Alliance officials," Simon said, and Mal's throat tightened. "I wouldn't blame him; it was intense."

"Eat up, everyone," Mal said quickly, shoveling his spoon into his lump of protein mix for emphasis. "We did good today, and time will come when we'll find a market with some real food and other rewards."

The next day passed, and Serenity glided smoothly on her endless journey through space.

Jayne had woken up that morning with a queasiness in his stomach. He’d briefly entertained the notion that maybe he was catching some sort of cold, but he knew deep down that he just didn’t want to accept the real reason for his unease, which intensified when he passed Simon or Mal; he hadn’t even exchanged words with the latter since his temporary imprisonment in the airlock. Jayne just hated that he was acting so weak. So what if he’d betrayed the Tams? Other men would have done it, the kind of money the Alliance was offering. And everything had turned out fine in the end, anyway. He didn’t see why Mal had to hold such a grudge.

He hoped that Simon could help that crazy girl, at least. On Ariel, Simon had looked into River’s mind, and what he’d found didn’t sound at all pleasant. He’d talked about them cutting into her brain and doing all sorts of meddling. Even if Jayne refused to like her, no kid deserved that torture, to be treated like a lab rat. `Sides, her daily shouting matches with whatever voices lived in her head were getting really old.

She'd been babbling all through the hospital on Ariel, from the moment they'd woken her up to when the Feds had chased them. She hadn't spoken a word of sense, except when — Jayne's forehead creased as he tried to recall her words when they’d discovered that the Alliance was on their tail.

"They come when you call. . . ." She'd turned those wide, eerie eyes on him then, and accused softly, "Your toes are in the sand."

The hell does she mean, my toes are in the sand. Toes in the sand — Jayne leapt off the bed, his eyes darting wildly back and forth, as if expecting River to appear in his bunk at any moment to clarify what he had just realized. That chit knows! She knows that I turned her and her brother in. Jayne gulped audibly, his mind racing with the new chance of danger to his well-being.

Mal climbed down the ladder into Jayne's bunk with barely a whisper of sound, startling the already jumpy mercenary. Jayne swallowed thickly and turned his back, pretending to study the guns mounted on his wall. Mal took two steps toward him, and Jayne was suddenly, painfully aware that they were in close quarters, with several weapons available, and a part of his mind idly pondered which of them would win if they both drew their guns.

Mal kept his distance, and his voice was clipped. "It'd be good for you to join us for dinner tonight," he said, but Jayne couldn't mistake the command. "You wouldn't want it to look like anything out of the ordinary was goin' on." Then he was gone, and as Jayne turned all he saw was the flap of Mal's brown coat.

So Mal wasn't going to tell them about what he did. Jayne stood pondering this for several moments before thrusting it aside, too worn out to have the patience to think fully about it.

But he wasn't off the hook. Even if Mal didn't want the rest of the crew to know about his betrayal, there was no guaranteeing that River would keep that information secret. She'd already shown that she disliked him as much as he did her — his chest still ached from the gash where she'd stabbed him — and he wouldn't be surprised if she decided to rat him out. He'd have to watch her carefully for any signs that she might blurt it out.

As Jayne entered the galley that evening, he had his guard up, but he was further thrown for a loop when he saw that River was nowhere to be seen. As he took a seat next to Kaylee, he was still glancing around for the wispy figure.

"Doc, where's your sister?" he demanded of Simon.

"I've been medicating her," Simon explained, not surprised by Jayne's edgy behavior, since River had slashed him in the chest and he was bound to be on guard. "She's been sleeping for the last two days" — he turned away from Jayne, so that his explanation reached the others — "waking up occasionally, but mostly lying around. No nightmares, though." He grinned, but Kaylee was the only one who mirrored his expression.

"What’s everybody gonna buy with their shares?" the mechanic asked chipperly, her bright eyes roving around the table. Everyone involved in the heist began offering their plans; Wash and Zoe debated the significance of more plastic dinosaurs to some ammunition, while Kaylee began rattling off the latest mechanical gadget that she said would benefit the ship as well. Everyone was speaking, except for Mal and Jayne.

"What about you, Jayne?" Mal asked, and Jayne’s head shot up too quickly to be casual. He swallowed and answered without answering, "What about me?"

Mal gestured at him with his chopstick. "What’re you gonna buy with your hard-earned cash? You were so happy to get paid, but you ain’t joinin’ in here."

Jayne paused in mid-chew, at a loss for a response. He couldn’t look away from Mal’s calm, stern gaze, but he felt the silence stretching longer than was needed, and he hurried to swallow.

He shrugged with forced nonchalance. "Some more bullets and stuff for Vera. The usual." Mal nodded and looked back at his food, and Jayne was off the hook. But when he looked back down at his food, he found that his appetite had disappeared.

"Er . . . Jayne?"

The mercenary paused in mid-step when he recognized the voice and slowly turned, expelling a short sigh and grunting, "Yeah?"

He felt a tiny enjoyment at watching the stuffy doctor squirm nervously. "Well, I, that is —" he stammered. "Do you need me to take care of your cuts?" When Jayne looked blank, Simon tentatively pointed out his scraped knuckles and the two bumps on his forehead. "I noticed that you've been looking rather fatigued lately," he continued, fidgeting more with each word, "and you didn’t come to dinner the other night, and I . . ."

When Simon had finally trailed off, Jayne rudely replied, "Don't need it" and shoved past him without a backward glance to see Simon’s reaction.

Jayne retreated to his bunk once more, needing to be alone to worry about the shit he'd gotten himself waist-deep in. He was glad that Mal was keeping his silence, and he'd find a way to deal with River, if the time came. But what he didn’t think he could deal with was the doctor's newfound appreciation. Simon was acting just like those muddy idiots on Canton, blindly worshipping him through a misunderstanding. Jayne didn't know why having this responsibility ate at him so, but he didn't like the feeling. Mercenaries were supposed to be calculating and dependent on no one but themselves. Emotions and attachments always messed things up.

In a betrayal, someone always got hurt or dead. In Jayne’s history, that person had always been the one that he’d turned on. Stitch, Marco. . . . Then Mal had shown Jayne what it felt like, to hang on the edge of death, at the mercy of someone he had grown to trust. He’d eat his shirt before he’d admit it but he’d been seriously shaken by the captain’s actions.

He forced himself to focus on the gun he was cleaning. Cold, metal, unfeeling – that was how mercenaries were supposed to act. How he’d always acted. Cold –

The bulkhead was frigid against his sweaty skin, and the thinning air seemed tinged with ice –

"Gorramit!" Jayne shoved his gun into its place on the wall and whipped out Binky, wiping a particle of dust from the knife’s hilt with his rag. These unfamiliar thoughts weighed on him like a stone slab, their severe weight due to the fact that he’d never experienced them before, and he couldn’t shake them.

He expelled a loud breath and shut his eyes. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he breathed.

"The guilt is consuming you," River answered from the ladder. Jayne's eyes snapped open, and the hand still holding the knife came up reflexively. The silvery metal gleamed between them, and River's hypnotizing gaze was briefly attracted to the shine before returning to Jayne, and he felt a shiver race down his spine at the memory of what she’d done the last time she’d gotten her hands on a knife.

"What the hell are you doing here, girl?" Jayne demanded gruffly. Truthfully, he really didn’t want to know what she could possibly have planned by coming into his bunk — Wasn't the hatch locked? the other part of his mind wondered. "Doc says you should be sleeping."

"I was sleeping," River answered, her voice quiet, level, unshaken though the torment must still be happening in her head. "It was deep, peaceful . . . and suffocating. I'm supposed to wake up now, Simon says. But the haze is still upon me. I'm only walking in a dream." Her alluring gaze never left his, but something behind her eyes shifted, and when they cleared again, he could tell her mind was on something different. "The guilt swallows you up, and you can't swim out again."

"How would you know?" he shot back, glancing down to check that his knife was clean before shoving it into the holster on his leg. His fingers almost curled around the hilt again as she took several steps toward him and lifted one hand. She laid the white palm on his chest, long fingers splaying over the still-healing gash. Jayne gritted his teeth and almost wrenched away from her, but suddenly she looked up at him again, and he was locked in her gaze. "Because you feel shame, you show that you really are a man. It's healing," she added quietly, the words having seemingly nothing to do with what she’d just said. She shifted her hand slightly and continued, "But it hasn't healed here."

Momentarily freed from her spell, Jayne growled, "What the hell are you talking about?" Here she was, spouting nonsense again!

A shadow creased her smooth, pale forehead briefly. She put pressure on his chest, causing him to hiss slightly as a stab of pain shot through him. "This is healing" — her fingers danced over an inch — "but here it hasn't." Jayne's fists clenched tightly; she was touching the same gorram spot and wasn't making the least bit of sense. "Would you stop sayin’ this crazy talk –" he started to demand.

"No," she hissed, looking suddenly like a petulant six-year-old. "Look. This is healing." She was touching the gash again, but she made a point of sliding her hand over to where his heart beat under his T-shirt. "But here it hasn't. You haven't forgiven me."

This was the craziest thing she had said in the entire week. Jayne incredulously asked, "You expect me to forgive you? To forget like it ever happened?"

"Just like you want me to forgive and forget you betraying us," River answered calmly, and Jayne drew in a shaky breath during the silence that stretched from her words. He'd realized that she knew, but hearing her utter the words suddenly gave him a clear, urgent reminder that she held something over his head.

But there was no flash of rage, like he’d expected. She didn’t sound hurt or upset, just . . . eerily calm. She knew the information, but she didn’t seem to entirely understand it. He swallowed past a dry, scratchy throat. "You mean . . . you're not, you know, mad?"

"What does it matter?" River asked. She answered herself, "It doesn't matter." Her hand fisted in his shirt, and Jayne stiffened. "It's over and done. Nothing's been won. The end has begun."

Jayne was annoyed. He had no patience for her crazy babbling, and now he was considering smacking some sense into her, like before. What's more, he really didn't like her touching him – girl had ruttin’ cold hands – and he grabbed her arm in his callused hands and tried to forcibly shove her away from him.

"An eye for an eye," River murmured, not even noticing his discomfort. "We're even now. Tomorrow is a different day, to start fresh." Jayne's answer was a derisive snort. River took the control from him by grasping his arm, so that their hands were now twisted around each other’s. She tugged him along with her, and he had no choice but to follow.

At the doorway she paused again. "You can tuck the secrets away, but they won’t disappear." She looked again at his chest, and, as if drawn by a magnet, he looked down too. "The cut will heal, but the scar will remain.

"Now – come dine with brothers and sisters. Share the holy meal." Suddenly, the friendly façade that had unexpectedly appeared abruptly dropped from her face, and she whispered, "They must not know that things have changed." Despite himself, Jayne felt a shiver at her words; then he scowled and pushed it to the back of his mind. At least he could do that, he found himself remembering from what Simon had said on Ariel; poor girl had that ripped away from her, too.

River’s face suddenly brightened, and she was smiling as she said, "It’ll be our little secret!" She was positively skipping to the galley then, dragging him along behind her like a smoothly-sailing ship towing dead weight.

Damn girl switched moods worse than his mama when she had PMS.

As they entered the galley, all talk died as quickly as a man shot in the head. Six pairs of incredulous eyes slowly turned toward them, and as River released Jayne to take a seat next to Simon, the eyes followed their every move.

Jayne took his seat and felt a distinct uncomfortableness when the questioning looks came to him. The look that Mal sent him was pure malice, mostly along the lines of "What the hell do you think you’re doing?" Jayne averted the captain’s gaze and began piling some food on to his plate. Simon’s eyebrows looked to be climbing into his hair, and his mouth was half-open, as if in the process of forming a question.

"Close your mouth, Doc, you’re collectin’ flies," Jayne drawled, and the mood of the morning they’d gone to Ariel – all of them relaxing in the galley, him teasing the doctor – resettled upon them. It jerked Simon back into awareness, and he grinned sheepishly as the others laughed. Jayne dug into his food, and soon they were all talking, and everyone was back to the almost familial behavior they shared, laughing and chattering and enjoying each other’s company.

River beamed at him across the table, and, though he rolled his eyes at her, Jayne couldn’t help but feel an infectious smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. She continued to smile at him, her eyes bright, and he realized that she was looking kind of healthy. Then she ducked her head, almost shyly, and a lock of dark hair fell into her face. She didn’t speak for most of the meal, but she appeared to be the most – what was the word? Not just happy, but kinda peaceful, serene even – content he’d ever seen her.

It seemed impossible that it was River who had come to the most sensible conclusion for everything that had happened these last few days, but here it was: They – he, the girl, Mal – should put it behind them. Maybe that’s what she’d meant by "It’s over and done." It wasn’t going to bother them anymore, so they’d all be better off not thinking about it.

But in his relief, River’s other words had completely slipped from his memory: "Nothing’s been won. The end has begun."