BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - GENERAL

HISGOODGIRL

That Which Shapes A Man 9/13
Monday, January 22, 2007

Jayne attempts to reconnect with his Ma as family members gather for Mattie’s burial. The solemn occasion forces him to confront early events that have shaped his life, in an effort to understand the true meaning of family and loyalty.


CATEGORY: FICTION    TIMES READ: 2257    RATING: 9    SERIES: FIREFLY

Title: That Which Shapes A Man

Chapter Nine: Just Don’t Fit

Author: mercsgoodgirl

Rating: PG-13 Characters: Jayne, ofc, omc Pairing: Jayne/Kaylee some chapters Timeline: About the time of “Those Left Behind” Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss. Word Count: 2,903; chapter nine of thirteen

A/N:: From the first time I watched Firefly, I wondered what circumstances might have shaped the character of Jayne Cobb, an exceptionally complex man. The given name "Jayne" was a common variant of "John" in Victorian England. This story emerged from the questions I asked.

Thanks to my excellent beta ArtemisPrime To read previous chapters, click on my name, above. Your comments are sincerely appreciated. Thanks!

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Chapter Nine: Just Don’t Fit

Jayne settles his bulk into the old armchair at his mother’s bedside, listening as his sister gathers her things and leaves. He’s thought so often of what he’d say if he ever got to see his Ma again, and now that she sits smiling at him, his mind is a blank.

What he doesn’t want are questions. He remembers all too well his Ma’s knack for figuring out when he’d been up to something, and over the past twenty-six years, he’s been up to a whole lotta somethings he’d just as soon she doesn’t know about. Here he is, forty-one years old, a grown man, and he feels like he’s ten all over again. What is he to do?

Ask about her, you idgit. Git her to talk, then maybe she won’t start askin’ ya awkward questions.

He smiles sheepishly and fiddles with the doilies on the chair arms, his voice unnaturally cheery. “So, Ma, how are ya feelin’?”

“Well…”

“Bèn de hún dàn! He could have kicked himself. Why’d ya say that? She’s bound to be upset, with Mattie dyin’ an’ all.

“What I meant was… are ya… managin’ okay?” Then, without even giving his mother time to reply, he nervously blurts out, “Oh, and uh, thanks fer the hat you knitted. I’m real proud of it. Does a good job a keeping my head warm. Easy to find, too… bein’ all yellow, I mean.”

Annalee tilts her head and examines him. “That’s good, son. I don’t never know what you need. Truth is, I don’t know much at all about yer life no more. I’m sure ya write when ya can and I don’t know what we would have done without the money you kept sendin’ back. ‘Specially after you left, things got real bad with yer Pa and…”

Jayne intently studies the border on the crocheted counterpane. “I know, Ma. That’s why I done it. I knowed he was drinkin’ more and more, not workin’ regular. Finally heard he got fired and moved out. Just seemed the right thing to do, seein’ as I didn’t stay to take care of y’all…” His voice trails off awkwardly.

There. He’s said it. He’s admitted he feels bad for leavin’. Doesn’t change the fact he let his family down.

His mother covers a yawn with her gaunt hand, exhaustion evident, as the old clock in the parlor chimes eleven and it suddenly occurs to Jayne how late it is.

“Look, Ma, you need to git some rest, considerin’ all you been through. Don’t ya worry ‘bout me none. I can stay in… in the other room… and we can visit more tomorrow.” He stands up, still feeling so utterly out of place. “You got enough covers?”

“I’ll be fine, now, son.” Her voice is faint and quavering but hopeful.

Jayne leans over and kisses his mother’s cheek again. “I’ll git the lamp. Call me if’n ya need anythin’.” He replaces the armchair, then cups his hand over the lamp chimney and blows out the flame. “G’night, Ma.”

“It’s so good to have ya home, Jayne…” she whispers.

He mostly closes the door to his mother’s bedroom and crosses the worn green linoleum, extinguishing all but one of the lamps, then sets the latch on the back door. For a long moment the big man stands stock-still in the midst of the kitchen, breathing in the smell of kerosene and wood smoke and his Ma’s cooking, the smells of his childhood. He lets his eyelids fall closed and travels back in time, remembering the holidays and family gatherings of his early childhood, when the house bulged with people and goodwill. Those times had shaped his ideas of what family meant, what love was all about. They are times long passed.

Wuo de ma, I’m beat. Best git my gear from the parlor.

He hesitates over whether to carry his pistol into the bedroom with him, but it seems plumb unnatural not to have Cassie close to hand, so he takes his gun belt out from under his coat and slings it over his shoulder. Picking up the duffel in his left hand and the lamp in his right, the merc heads back through the kitchen to the small bedroom he shared with his siblings so long ago.

He isn’t sure what he’ll find. Mattie stayed on with his Ma after the girls married and left home, taking over the room as his own. The old white iron bedsteads are still set at right angles to one another, although there is no sign of the worn yellow quilt Jayne remembered. Instead, plain blue and white piecework covers both beds and the walls have been painted light blue. Much of the childhood clutter he remembers is gone, replaced by evidence of Mattie, a man Jayne has never known.

A knitted blue afghan is flung back on one bed, indicating where Rachel rested. Jayne sets his duffel nearby on the rag rug and tucks Cassie into the open bag. On top of the chest of drawers are a group of neatly framed captures. He sets the lamp down and turns up the flame, studying these images from a family life unfamiliar to him. There is Rachel and her family and Liza with hers. Another image shows a pleasant woman in her late twenties with thick brown hair and laughing gray eyes. Jayne had no idea who she is, but suspects his brother was sweet on her. An old-fashioned image shows Jedd and Annalee on their wedding day, looking stiff and incredibly young.

A small desk has been crammed into one corner of the room, and it holds ledger books, pens and surprisingly, books on astronomy. Over one bed, Mattie had tacked star maps of the surrounding sectors of space. Elsewhere, on a set of shelves, there are more books on history and books of music, a model of a Firefly Class vessel, and a capture of Jayne himself, taken by Kaylee not long after he’d joined Mal’s crew. Mattie’s coat still hangs on the back of the door, his shoes and clothing still in the cupboard and chest.

In another corner stands the well-worn guitar Jayne had played long ago, a gift from his Uncle Jacob. He’d left the instrument behind for Mattie, who played it with far more promise than Jayne had ever shown.

The tired mercenary sits down on the bed, digesting what the small bedroom tells him about the brother he’d barely known. Regardless of Mattie’s poor health, it appeared that he had been smart and talented. He’d loved to read, to learn, loved music. The shelf with the Firefly model and Jayne’s flickering image seemed almost like an altar, and the memory of how his younger brother had idolized him makes Jayne feel unworthy and filled with regret.

Wish I’d a knowed ‘im. Looks like he was a good man. Gorram shame for ‘im ta die so young. Shouldda been me, kinda life I’ve lived.

The big man drags off his boots and sets them off to the side, then strips down to his undershirt and shorts and extinguishes the lamp. He turns back the covers and slides his big body diagonally into the old bed, his feet poking off one corner. Guess I just don’t fit no more, he realizes as he drifts off into an exhausted sleep.

***

Sprawled across Mattie’s too-small bed, Jayne dreams.

“I need you to go down to Kemper’s fer me, Jayne. Git half a dozen potatoes and an onion.” His Ma hands him a few coins. “Ain’t got enough left to buy no meat, but I can squeeze a pot a soup outta that. Now, haggle with the grocer, Jayne, an’ don’t let him cheat you by restin’ his thumb on the scales.”

“Yes, Ma.”

He is walking down the back alleyways to Kemper’s Store, the small coins clinking in his pocket. He knows Kemper cheats his customers, overcharges. He also knows they wouldn’t be havin’ gorram soup again if his Pa’d stop drinkin’ up all his pay.

He stands in the dry-goods store, looking at the canned goods and produce and sweets. Potatoes and an onion, she’d said. Stupid vegetables. His stomach growls loudly.

The grocer, his back toward Jayne, is busy across the store, fussing over the Widow Mullins. With a quick glance to make sure the coast is clear, the youth grabs a tinned ham and a handful of penny candies, slipping the booty into his coat pocket. He also pockets a package of jerky, then loads the potatoes and onion into his Ma’s market basket and carries them to the counter.

What he done weren’t no worse than Mr. Kemper cheating his customers, he rationalizes. Once home again, he empties the basket and carefully places the small canned ham beside the produce. “Look, Ma. The taters was on sale so I had enough to get that, too,” he announces, proudly.

“On sale, you say?” Annalee eyes him skeptically. “Hmm…”

Later, he hides the jerky under the mattress of the bed he and Mattie share, along with most of the candy. He doles that out later, after light’s out.

***

The low booming of thunder rolls down off the mountains north of Ironton as another squall moves in. The sound awakens Jayne from his uneasy sleep. The heavy cloud cover makes it difficult to judge the time, but it isn’t yet daylight. He needs to piss and decides he might as well get up and build up the fire in the old stove.

As quietly as possible, he dresses and eases his door open. His mother’s soft, rhythmic breathing issues from the other bedroom, and the old parlor clock chimes six. Early then. He grabs his hat and jacket and tiptoes stealthily out the back door and into the drizzle.

The old outhouse still stands across the alley, cold and stark. Jayne quickly finished his business and zips his fly, then softly closes the door, stepping back into the rain. Funny that his Ma’d never added indoor plumbing. He knows his sisters have encouraged Annalee to update the house, but his mother is a strong-willed and old-fashioned woman.

He pulls his coat close around his ears and pushes his hat down firmly against the wet. Seems like he’d spent most of his boyhood trying to stay warm and dry.

At the woodpile, he’s pleased to see someone has built a low shed to protect the logs and kindling from the weather and he fills the crook of his arm with a dozen sticks of stove wood and some finely split dry oak. The coal scuttle still sits by the back door, filled with lump coal.

Back in the house, he quietly closes his mother’s door, hoping to avoid awakening her. Jayne crouch before the stove, lays the kindling on the coals remaining from the previous night, then blows softly on them until they ignite. Bit by bit he adds more wood until the fire’s burning steadily, and tops it off with several chunks of coal for good measure.

Just as he had so many years before, he fills the coffeepot with water from the pump at the old sink and sets it on the stove. He poked through his mother’s canisters until he finds the fragrant dark powder, spooning it into the coffee basket Rachel left out to drain the night before.

As the coffee brews, Jayne puts his hat and coat on the back of one of the old oak kitchen chairs to dry, and settles himself into another. On so many homesick nights, he’d dreamed of returning home, and now that he’s there, he feels like a stranger. His thoughts turned to his Pa and he wonders whether the old liou mahng is even still alive. No one in the family has written anything about him for years, so no telling what has happened. Does he even dare ask?

The dim, watery light of morning oozes into the kitchen and Jayne feels a strong sense of déjà vu. So many times through his early years, he’d done this routine. Funny how it all came back, even after over two decades of absence.

One concession to changing times is the icebox that now stands at one side of the kitchen, an alternative to the outdoor chiller of Jayne’s youth. He opens the heavy door and began to poke around, lifting container lids and sniffing the contents. A pale green glass bowl holds a dozen eggs and he claims that and the ham.

Oughtta git a pretty decent breakfast for us out of this, he reasons, slicing several thick slabs of the salty meat, laying them to warm in his ma’s cast iron skillet. As the ham sizzles and the smoky aroma begins to permeate the kitchen, Jayne finds a smaller bowl and cracks six eggs into it, whisking them into a lemony, foaming mass with a fork. He spears the ham and turns it, thinking about Kaylee, wondering how she’s holding up and hoping the whisky job is going smoothly.

Satisfied that the ham is warmed through, he shifts it onto two plates and pours the beaten eggs into the hot grease, sprinkling them with salt and pepper. As the eggs cook, he grabs the mugs he and Rachel shared the night before and pours hot, foaming coffee into both, leaving one black and doctoring his with lots of sugar and milk. He divides the scrambled eggs onto the plates, with the majority piled on his.

At the creak of his mother’s bedroom door swinging open, he glances up. Annalee is dressed in a somber black shirtwaist with her silver hair coiled at the nape of her neck. “I knew I smelled ham cookin’. You’re up mighty early, son.”

“Storm woke me and I figured I’d go on an’ git the stove started.” Jayne puts the plates on the table with the coffee. “You come sit down an’ eat, Ma.”

Annalee looked up at the towering man her eldest has become and slides her arms around his middle. Jayne awkwardly embraces her, like hugging a child. When did she git so small? he wonders.

He pulls out a chair for her and she stiffly settles into it. Her voice is soft and sad. “I don’t seem to have much appetite anymore since… since yer brother left us. But the coffee smells good and we can catch up some while yer a’eatin’. Tell me about the folks on that starship you work fer and what y’all do…”

Oh, hell. Here we go… Jayne smiles stiffly. “Well, Ma…”

***

When Rachel arrives with her family later that morning, Jayne is grateful for a break from his mother’s intense scrutiny and the barrage of questions she’s asked about the events of his life in the time since he’d left home. He’s used to prevaricatin’, but not used to having to make up so many tales for such a perceptive audience. In three hours, the little old woman has plumb worn him out.

When the back door swings open, Rachel and her boys pour in, followed up by her husband Wallace, a dark, saturnine man dressed in an expensive suit.

Introductions are made, and Jayne and Wallace guardedly study one another while Rachel fusses over her mother. Jayne breathes a sigh of relief and the boys are sent to work on a puzzle spread on the floor in their grandmother’s room.

Shortly, the back door opens again and in troops Jayne’s elder sister, Liza, along with her husband and children. Tommie helps her off with her coat and greets his brother-in-law with a handshake and a nod. “Jayne.”

“Long time no see, Tommie.” Jayne takes the proffered hand and smiled wryly at his conspicuously pregnant sister. “Looks like you two’ve been plenty busy.”

“Jayne!” Liza chastises. She corrals her son and daughter, both miniatures of their robust, fair-hired father. Two pairs of blue eyes stare unblinkingly up at him. “Inga and Thomas, this is your Uncle Jayne.” As the towering man steps closer, both children take refuge in the folds of their mother’s skirt.

The big merc looks faintly hurt. “Don’t much seem to ken to me, do they?”

Liza shooes them in with their cousins. “Don’t take it personal, Jayne. They’re just shy.”

There is a sharp double knock on the front door and pompous Wallace goes to answer it. He soon returns to the kitchen and announces, “Mother, Preacher Cortland has come about Matthew’s service. He’d like to have us join him in the parlor for a word of prayer.”

Wallace extends his elbow for Annalee to take and leads the family into the parlor where the preacher sits, dour and stiff. Jayne brings up the rear, feeling like a complete fish out of water.

After seating Annalee in a worn maroon velvet rocker, Wallace goes round the family, providing introductions. He comes at last to Jayne, who stands awkwardly in the doorway, and Annalee interrupts him, gesturing.

“Preacher Cortland. I want you to meet my other son, the one who’s been away so long. This is Jayne, my eldest.”

The thin, stork-like minister stands and clasps his hands together. “Hallelujah and praise the Lord, for ‘though one has been taken from our midst, He hath returned to us another!”

Ai ya, Jayne groans inwardly, the religifyin’s startin’ already.

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Chapter nine of thirteen [/I}

COMMENTS

Monday, January 22, 2007 1:50 PM

QWERTY


"Ai ya, Jayne groans inwardly, the religifyin’s startin’ already."

I can sympathize. I go through the same thing every time I go home. :o)

I liked how things sort of came full circle, with Jayne getting up to get the fire going, the coffee on, etc. It was a really nice touch!

Monday, January 22, 2007 3:32 PM

BLUEEYEDBRIGADIER


I definitely know what Jayne's feeling right then...never know how to politely tell Christian proselytizers to politely take a hike. Has screwed me over twice in the past few months:(

Still...beautiful work here, HGG! Definitely loving how you're having Jayne react and think on being home, especially the internal comments about keeping his work a secret from his Ma. Though I get the feeling you'll have that matter cleared up soon with a surprise revelation;D

BEB

Tuesday, January 23, 2007 6:29 AM

HISGOODGIRL


Thanks for the comments, folks. I deal with the proselytizers by telling them that I consider religion to be a personal matter and to have a nice day. THEN I close the door.


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