Title: Jayne’s Hands Author: hisgoodgirl Paring: Jayne/Kaylee Disclaimer: Joss's toys, my make-believe. No money exchanged and all that. Rating: PG-15 for subtle sexual references

Summary: Kaylee has been studying Serenity’s mercenary. Set prior to the first series episode, “Serenity”. Kaylee POV.

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Jayne’s Hands

Couldn’t sleep. That ain’t unusual for me. Seems I never got the hang of the way days and nights get all jiggered around on Serenity. Zoë says it may have to do with me bein’ dirt-born an’ growin’ up with set days and nights. She was born on a ship, never knew different, an’ the changin’ schedule don’t bother her a bit. Wash neither. Both of ‘em could sleep through most anything.

Sometimes I’ll read, mostly old novels ‘Nara gives me. If they’re boring enough, I’ll occasionally slip back to sleep. Other times, it just gets into me to go aft and check on m’girl, see how she’s runnin’, maybe do a little tinkerin’ if I can keep it quiet. Plenty of times, betwixt and between, when I can catch a nap in my hammock or on the couch in the lounge, if I get tuckered out. I do my best to keep quiet, ease open my bunk ladder so it don’t clank, mostly go barefoot or in my bunny slippers ‘cause they got soft bottoms.

The Cap’n has a hard time sleepin’, too, and I’ve bumped into him more’n once patrolin’ the ship or headed up to the bridge. Even found him face down on his log book once, asleep on the galley table.

It’s nice to wander down to the galley and make a cup of tea when the ship’s runnin’ quiet and everyone’s sleepin’. I ‘specially like mine with lots of soymilk an’ a little sweetenin’, if we got any. Tonight, my stomach got to growlin’ and I decide I’ll go poke around and see if I can salvage a snack from the little bit of rice and tofu left from supper.

Soon as I come up my ladder, I can see Jayne sittin’ down at the far end of the table, where Cap usually sits, workin’ on some guns. Had an old towel all spread out and gun parts laid just so while he cleans an’ oils ‘em. Guess he heard me, ‘cause he glances up and gives me one of his wry smiles, but didn’t neither one of us speak, and he goes on back to his work.

I fill up the kettle and put it on the heater, get out a couple of mugs and when the water’s boilin’, pour it in over the tea bags. Ain’t fancy like the way ‘Nara makes it, but tastes good enough. Once it’s steeped, I fish out the bags and doctor it up. A little sugar and soymilk in mine, a bunch a sugar in Jayne’s.

He ain’t much to talk when he’s workin’ on his guns. Like to keep his focus. I admire that, how he’s so deliberate and precise with ‘em. My pa always said any man don’t take care of his tools won’t take care of his woman. Guess that means Jayne’d make for a right good catch if he ever decides to settle on someone.

So I pick up our tea, come over and set down quiet-like beside him. Not too close, ‘cause I don’t want to be in his way, but I do love watchin’ him work. Set his cup off to the side where he can grab it but isn’t likely to spill it on nothin’. He thanks me, again with that funny smile and them blue eyes all a’twinkle.

Oh, him an’ me’s flirted a lot these past several months, an’ Buddha knows he’s mighty big an’ swai. Ain’t got beyond the flirtin’, ‘though, mostly ‘cause Cap’n keeps warnin’ us off each other an’ watching me like a hawk. Don’t know what he promised my folks when he hired me, but he gorram sure takes it all too serious for my taste.

Truth is, even when we ain’t flirtin’ and teasin’ each other, I like bein’ near Jayne. Don’t matter if he’s just hangin’ out an’ talkin, or workin’ out with them weights he bought. Just makes me feel all safe and, well… appreciated. And not just for my mechanical skills. He’s the only one on board who don’t treat me like a little girl and I know that ain’t how he sees me. Them hawk eyes a his tell it all.

I decide I’d rather watch him workin’ on his guns than find a snack, so I tuck my feet up under me and blow on my tea to cool it off a little before sippin’ on it. You can tell Jayne loves them guns by how he handles ‘em. Even gives ‘em all names, mostly after women he’s knowed. He’s just finished cleaning an automatic pistol, and quickly re-assembles it. Don’t hardly even look, his hands just pickin’ up parts and snappin’ and screwin’ ‘em back together, like he’s done it a thousand times. I seen Cap an’ Zoë do the same. Guess it’s a warrior thing.

When the gun’s reassembled, he checks the action an’ sets her aside on the towel. I can't help noticin' his hand as he lays the gun down in front of me. For one thing, it’s huge, pretty much like the rest of ‘im, I imagine. Got a square palm an’ strong thumb with surprisingly slender fingers, an’ his knuckles are a wreck. Got all kinds a scars on ‘em – in fact, he’s still got scabs across the first two left over from a bar fight on Three Hills last week. Got soft golden-brown hair across the back an’ up his arm, lighter than that on his head and face.

He sees I’m watchin’ him an’ smiles again. That big ol’ hand picks up the tea an’ he takes a slurpy sip to make sure it ain’t too hot.

“Hey, Kaylee, this is good,” he says. “You made it just right. Only one makes it sweet enough.”

I can feel my cheeks getting’ hot, the way they always do when he looks right at me like that. Man’s got a way of lookin’ at me, makes me feel like he can see right through my clothes. I can’t meet his eyes for long. Just makes it worse, ‘cause then I get started thinking about how he looks under his and, well, that could get right problematical.

He sees I’m blushin’ an’ laughs, then slips his big revolver outta the holster on his right thigh. That’s the one he calls “Cassie” and carries regular. She’s real dependable, holds nine rounds, he says. Big, too, although she don’t look that way in his hands.

Another long sip of tea and he settles into disassemblin’ her. I like it when he’s concentratin’ real hard ‘cause I can really look at him without him noticin’. Like before, he lays her parts out just so. You can tell he’s done it that way for years. Funny thing is, my pa taught me to do the same thing when breakin’ down an engine or pump or whatever. Best way not to lose no parts an’ get ‘em back together the way they was to begin with.

For such a big fella, Jayne’s right good with his hands, precise and steady. Guns got a lot of small parts and screws, and he’s real sure with ‘em. While he’s concentratin’, he sometimes clamps the tip of his tongue between his lips or screws one side of his mouth up funny. Tickles me, watchin’, but I don’t dare snicker. He don’t like it when he thinks somebody’s laughin’ at him. Guess he’s caught a lotta flak over that name a his through the years.

His nails are square an’ cut short, but they still got gun oil and powder residue up under ‘em. It’s all ground into the calluses on his fingertips, too. He’s so wrapped up in what he’s doin’, I can stare all I want. Never saw a man with so many scars on his hands still had all his fingers. Now my pa’s are pretty beat up after all them years of mechanic work, but he’s also missin’ the ends of his left index and middle fingers where a belt popped lose and the driveshaft crushed ‘em. Jayne’s hands are real beat up, but they got a funny sort of grace about ‘em.

I just can’t help wonderin’ what they’d feel like slidin’ over my skin…

Never seen anybody else who’s so prone to touchin’ things as he is, neither. Noticed that early on, how he’d run his hands over surfaces, rub his fingers on his clothes or the upholstery on the couch while sittin’ there. Seen him with the bar girls when we hit dirt. He’s always pattin’ ‘em and playin with their hair, just can’t keep them big hands a his still.

Yeah, he’s pretty free with them paws, but ain’t tried anythin’ with me I didn’t encourage. Nothin’ too familiar, although enough that Cap’s glared at him more’n once.

I guess he feels me a’watchin’ and looks up.

“Whatcha starin’ at, Kaylee?” His voice is low and raspy and always gives me the shivers.

“Ain’t starin’,” I tell him. “I just like watchin’ you work, s’all.” True enough, but we both know there’s more to it than that.

“Huh.” He raises one eyebrow skeptically, then goes back to his work.

I finish up my tea, mostly to cover up how much he unsettles me. His tousled dark head is bent over the carcass of the gun and I notice how long his eyelashes are. It’s been a few days since he shaved and he’s showin a bit a dark stubble in addition to his goatee. Makes me wanna reach out and stroke his jaw, but I don’t dare.

The ship’s warmer’n usual – a problem with the main atmo system I been tryin’ to suss out. Jayne’s wearin’ a light brown t-shirt and sweatin’ just enough to make it stick right nice to his chest. Shirt’s a little small on him, too, and I can see how his muscles ripple as he starts to clean the gun parts in front of him. No tellin’ how long he’s been bent over that table, so he stretches out his big shoulders and cracks his neck, pulls that shirt even tighter. He interlaces his fingers in front of his chest, palms toward me so I can see the callus left by his gun butt, and stretches his strong forearms out over the table.

Yeah, he knows I’m watchin’.

“You gonna sit up all night?” he asks, then goes back to work, his eyes focused on the cylinder he’s cleanin’ now.

“Dunno. Guess I’m just waitin’ til I feel sleepy.”

Truth is, watchin’ Jayne’s got me wound up enough there ain’t no way I’d get to sleep without takin’ matters into my own hands. I can feel that ache I always get in my nethers when I’m around him long enough, and start wonderin’ if he can smell how turned on I am. Jayne’s got a right keen sense of smell – one of them things make’s him a good tracker. I decide I better change positions, so I squirm round and put my feet back on the floor, knees together.

He glances up and gives me a little knowin’ grin. Damn that man.

Thank Buddha, he decides to talk, ‘cause the tension between us is gettin’ pretty thick. “So what’s with the atmo? Still ain’t got the thermostat workin’ right?” That low, growly voice again.

With a sigh of relief I answer, “Problem ain’t in the thermostat. I’m thinkin’ there’s a glitch in the main atmo program, maybe somethin’ that happened when we got popped by lightenin’ back on Three Hills earlier this week. Wash an’ I are gonna try clearin’ the program and re-installin’ the settings tomorrow. I know it’s been awful warm the past couple of days.”

“So all that heat I’m feelin’ ain’t comin’ offa you, then?” He glances up and I blush like crazy again. “’Cause I’d swear it done got a whole lot warmer in here since you set down.”

That hún dàn’s just messin’ with me. Does it all the gorram time. An’ he claims I’m a tease.

He swabs the barrel and double-checks it for residue, then quickly reassembles his weapon, smooth as glass, cocks the hammer back and pulls the trigger. The hammer falls on the empty chamber with a crisp, resonant click. Jayne smiles to himself as he holsters the revolver. “Now that’s how she oughtta sound,” he announces with satisfaction.

I prop my elbows on the table and rest my chin in my hands, watchin’ as he packs up the other guns and his gear in a battered old canvas bag. Finally, he wipes his hands on the old towel he was workin’ over, cleanin’ off the worst of the blackish residue on those long fingers, an’ stuffs the towel into his bag.

“Show’s over, Kaylee girl. You can sit here all night iffn ya wanna, but I’m goin’ to bed.” He stands and I hop up outta my chair, too.

“No, I’m tuckered now," I say, shovin’ my chair back under the table a bit too fast.

He snickers and switches off the light in the galley and then the lamp on the table.

“C’m on, then.”

He lets me go first, mostly ‘cause he likes to look at my ass when I’m goin’ up the stairs to the passageway an’ I don’t mind him lookin’ none. Our bunks are across from one another and we stop right between ‘em.

Jayne reaches out and tucks a lock of hair that’s come loose back behind my ear. I can feel the rasp of his calluses against my cheek as he lays his palm against it for just the briefest moment. His hand smells like guns and cigars and, well… Jayne. I lean into his touch for just a second, wishing it could go on all night. Then he reaches over my shoulder and pushes open the door to my bunk.

“Sweet dreams…” he says and gently pats my bottom when I turn to climb down my ladder.

Oh yeah… I think to myself. Sweet dreams.

The End

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