Title: Old Warriors Author: hisgoodgirl

Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss. His characters just come play in my head. Rating: PG-15 for profanity Characters: Mal, Jayne (not slash) Timeline: Long after the Rebellion triggered by events in the BDM. Warning: Some characters have deceased.

A/N: One look way down the road at a reunion between a couple of BDHs. Also posted on the ff_fanfic and fireflyholidays comms at LJ. Let me know what you think.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Old Warriors

“Sonuvabitch!”

The words exploded out of Malcolm Reynolds’ mouth almost like a sneeze, as he slammed his half-full mug down on the scarred tabletop in surprise.

The hulking figure that stood in the bar’s doorway, silhouetted against the glaring midday sun, could only belong to one man. He was still massive and carried himself with an assurance born of a lifetime of brawls and battles, still as heavily armed as the day they’d parted ten years before.

Mal stood up from the table and craned his neck. Graying at the temples, but still lean and handsome, he wore his much-mended and stained brown leather duster like a second skin. He chuckled to himself. Never figured that hún dàn’d still be alive after all these years.

The big man spotted him and plowed through the crowd and over to the table. He was grinning from ear to ear, one big ham of a hand reaching to grasp the one Mal extended and the other clasping the Browncoat’s shoulder fondly.

“Can’t believe yer still wearin’ that raggedy-ass coat, Cap’n,” he laughed. “It’s gorramned good to see ya.”

“Have a seat, Jayne. Good to see you, too.” Mal waved at the waitress, then leaned closer and chuckled as he grasped the worn lapels of the duster and glanced down at them, “Yeah, I still drag it out on occasions, ‘though, if the truth be told, it’s well on the way to fallin’ apart.”

The waitress smiled at both men and asked, “What can I bring ya?”

Mal laughed. “Bring us another mug and a pitcher, and keep ‘em comin’. We got some catchin’ up to do.”

He studied his old gunhand. The man’s once-dark hair and beard were now shot with silver and his rugged, weather-beaten face bore a long scar that ran from his left temple toward his chin. Still, his steel-blue eyes twinkled rakishly and Mal couldn’t help noticing that the bar whores were still eyeing’ the man the same way they used to all those years ago.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, he thought. Except they don’t.

Their beer arrived and Mal filled both mugs.

“What you been up to, you ol’ liou mahng? I heard you’d managed to get your own ship awhile back.”

Jayne laughed ruefully. “Yeah, had a little scrapper for awhile, doin’ well enough ‘til I went on a bender an’ lost her in a poker game.” He shook his head in disgust. ”Damn cards musta been rigged, Mal!”

“Since then, I been hirin’ on where I can. Some legit security work, but mostly same as I done for you.” He lifted his mug and slurped the amber brew. “Ah… now that ain’t bad.” He smacked his lips. “How ‘bout you?”

Mal’s face took on a wistful expression. “Well, I’m still flyin’. Got a halfway decent crew, but not like the old days. Smallish, but we manage. Pilot, one gunhand, and a mechanic who could do with some more trainin’. Sure makes me wish I had Kaylee around. Wash’n Zoë, too.”

“Yeah, Cap’n. I know.”

Both men were silent for a moment, each remembering other days.

“You hear from ‘Nara lately?”

Mal looked startled, fresh pain behind his eyes. “Then you ain’t heard?”

Jayne’s brows knotted and he shook his head. “Uh-uh. What the hell happened, Mal?”

“I got a wave from Sheydra about six couple months back. Cancer. Musta been pretty far gone before they caught it. Said she went real fast.”

“Ruttin’ hell, Mal. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me, too.” The Browncoat refilled his mug. “Hard to realize we’re the only ones left.”

“Ain’t that th’ truth. Amazes me I ain’t dead yet, my own self, ‘though it sure as hell ain’t fer lack a tryin’.” Jayne winced and stretched out his leg. “Caught a piece a shrapnel in my knee awhile back and the damn thing still gives me a fit sometimes. How ‘bout you?”

Mal chuckled. “I’m doin’ well enough, ‘though not so spry as I once was and got my own share a aches and pains. Simon used to joke that, ‘twixt the two of us, we were hauling around enough metal to set off a proximity alarm. Guess that’s even truer, now, since the Rebellion an’ all.”

He took another long pull on his beer. “I gotta say, it surprised the hell outta me to look up an’ see your ugly carcass fillin’ up the doorway.”

Jayne grinned at him over his mug.

“Just one thing I wanna know,” Mal asked, bemused and puzzled. “How in the hell did you find me? I know you’re a damn good tracker an’ all, but it’s a big gorramn ‘verse, Jayne.”

“I’m between crews. Noticed Serenity down at the docks, figured you was in port.” The merc chugged the rest of his beer and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

Mal studied the man across from him. “Damnit, Jayne, there’s two dozen drinkin’ establishments in this luh-suh town. That still don’t tell me how come you picked this bar to come lookin’ for me in.”

The blue eyes twinkled again, deep crow’s feet at their corners, and a wide, wry smile lit up the merc’s face.

“It’s right simple.” The big man shrugged. “It’s U-Day and this here’s the only Alliance-friendly bar in town.”

“Well, true enough.” Mal nodded and smiled in his one-sided way. “You’re right on both counts.”

Jayne ran the palm of his left hand over the knuckles of his right as if dusting ‘em off and cocked his head at the trio of Alliance “grunts” bellied up to the bar.

“How’s about we have us a li’l tussle for ol’ times’ sake?”

Mal stood and smiled at his old buddy as he cleared his coat behind the antique revolver still strapped against his thigh.

“Shiny! You wanna start it?”

The aging merc shook his head. “You’re the one’s got the grudge against the bastards, Cap’n. Wade on in and I’ll keep ya covered.”

“Like old times?” Mal asked.

Jayne smiled smugly. “Just like old times.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The End