Title: Old Warriors – 4 of 4 Chapter Title: Resolution Author: hisgoodgirl

Disclaimer: All belong to Joss. They just come play in my head. Paring: References to Jayne/Kaylee. Warning: PG-15 for profanity. Some characters are deceased Setting: Long after the Rebellion triggered by events in the BDM. Word Count: 1,366

A/N: This little tale started out as a one-shot look at reunion between a couple of BDHs, but took on a life of it’s own. Herein be some answers about what might have happened to whom… Please let me know what you think

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Old Warriors Part Four: Resolution

Mal stretched gingerly and leaned back against the bricks. “I guess that brings things back around to the two of us, don’t it?”

“I guess it does.”

“Let’s try to get some shut-eye.”

“Fair ‘nuff.”

~ * ~ * ~

Jayne had finally fallen asleep curled on his side, while Mal had propped himself with his back braced against the cell wall and an elbow resting on the merc’s hip. The cell was chilly by morning and Mal dozed fitfully, grateful for Jayne’s warmth.

He’d just finished taking a leak in the cell’s urinal when the deputy made his way down the corridor to their cell, bearing a couple of mugs of steaming coffee.

“Rise and shine, boys. Sheriff Hicks is gonna cut ya lose after breakfast.” He passed the dark beverage to Mal through the cell bars and announced, “I’ll be back with some food in a minute.”

Mal glanced back at Jayne. The big man was dead to the world, his loud snores rhythmically punctuating the gray light of dawn. Mal nudged him gently. “Hey, Sleepin’ Beauty -- gotcha some coffee.”

The old mercenary opened blurry eyes and yawned, swaying as he sat up. “Whoa… Guess my gyro’s are down,” he muttered as Mal handed him a mug.

Mal tipped his head to look at Jayne’s wound. “Don’t suppose that mightta had anything to do with that crack to the head you took yesterday? Had us one helluva fight, didn’t we?”

Jayne blew on the hot beverage and took a careful sip. “Yep, right on up there with the best of em.”

The deputy returned with a pot of oatmeal garnished with butter and brown sugar, spoons and bowls. Jayne stood and took the items from the jailer.

“Hell,” he told Mal, “it’s oatmeal. I had enough a that gorramned stuff, I’d be happy to never see another bowl.” He set the pot on the bunk and scooped portions into each of their bowls, then tasted his. “Folks don’t never put enough sugar in their oatmeal,” he griped, shaking his head.

The two old friends ate their breakfast in companionable silence. The clock at the end of the corridor showed 0900 when Sheriff Hicks came to unlock the cell door.

“You boys think you can behave yerselves, stay outta trouble?”

He looked from the grizzled merc to the graying Browncoat. “I got no problem with a man drinkin’ with a friend, but I ain’t tolleratin’ no brawlin’ in this town, y’hear? Best might be if you two’d clear on outta town soon as possible. You made yerselves a goodly lot of ill will in that fight yesterday.”

Both prisoners nodded, and Mal spoke up. “I got a ship in dock, makin’ some repairs. We’ll be off world by late tomorrow, so you got no cause to worry.”

“What about him?” Hicks pointed at Jayne.

“He’s part a my crew, “Mal replied without hesitation.

“Well, keep yer noses clean. You can pick up your sidearms and personal belongings up at the front desk on the way out.”

~ * ~ * ~

Armed up and back out on the busy street, Jayne queried his old boss, “I ain’t worked fer you in ten years, Mal. So, how come you told that lawman I was part a your crew?”

“I thought we settled that question with a wrench and an airlock, way back after that job on Ariel.” He cocked an eyebrow and glanced at the merc pointedly.

“Look, Jayne, I ain’t one to tell another man how to live his life, but you said yerself, things ain’t gettin’ any easier out here. You’re between jobs, plus you’re the oldest damn merc I ever heard tell of. I could use you, if you think you can handle bein’ back on Serenity. She’s been upgraded some since you left, even managed to get her cleaned up and painted awhile back.”

The morning sun shown silver and gold through Mal’s tousled hair and illuminated a face both careworn and caring. “You could probably even talk Rodney into movin’ outta your old bunk. Never did take down your gun racks, and I ‘magine the ‘Girls’ would feel right at home.”

Jayne stood quietly, hearing him out.

Mal was right – at his age, he was running out of options, and it wasn’t like he had a home or family to go back to. He knew it would be hard, bein’ back on Serenity, but he’d hung up his guns there longer than anywhere. There’d be ghosts, especially that of the woman he’d loved, but for Jayne Cobb, the ‘verse was full of ‘em.

Whatcha think I oughtta do, babygirl? he asked silently.

Like the faint rustle of leaves on the wind, he could have sworn he heard Kaylee answer, Come back home to us, ai ren…

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Postlude

The party was the event of the season in Capitol City, attended by the cream of Osirian society. The ballroom was vast, a marble and glass jewel box, ornately decorated and brilliantly illuminated, appointed with towering arrangements of fresh flowers and luscious refreshments. The orchestral music soared over the conversations of the crowd as the room fluttered with richly dressed people, hoping to see and be seen.

Near the fountain stood a woman of exquisite grace, slender and lovely. Her long, dark hair was arranged in a tiara upon her head and her dark eyes sparkled with intelligence. The sleeveless gown she wore was a fluid fall of deep blue hammered satin, low at the bosom and back and flowing to pool about her feet.

She studied the crowd intently and smiled as a stocky man of advanced years made his way over to her. He wore the sash and badge that marked his rank over a formal cutaway suit and bowed genteelly, lightly taking her right hand and brushing it with his lips. “It’s delightful to make your acquaintance, my dear,” he pronounced, admiring the antique jeweled ring she wore. “That’s quite lovely. Rather unique, I’d say.”

“Why, thank you, Chancellor. It’s an heirloom of sorts.”

“Would you care to dance, my dear?”

The woman laughed musically. “I’ve always loved to dance, and it would be a pleasure.” She gracefully gathered the train of her gown.

The Chancellor led her out into the swirl of couples, and with practice born of many years’ experience, placed one liver-spotted hand upon the small of her back while clasping one of hers lightly in the other. As they stepped forward to join the waltz, she reached up to rest the palm of her right hand familiarly upon the back of his neck.

“Ouch!” He flinched, face puzzled. “This damnable collar must be too tight.”

“Or perhaps my ring scratched you. You must forgive me.”

“If so,” he spun her in time to the crescendo of the dance, “I’m sure it was by accident. I cannot imagine someone so lovely as yourself to be capable of deliberately harming another.”

Her eyes held his, their depths unreadable, as they whirled and turned and the waltz wound down to its ending.

The Chancellor blanched and perspiration bloomed on his mottled cheeks. “Oh, dear… I find I am surprisingly winded.” His voice quavered and his hand, where it grasped hers, trembled faintly. He glanced about and found the huge bronze doors that marked the exit from the hall.

“I’m afraid I must ask you to excuse me, my dear. I find that I am suddenly unwell…”

The woman graced him with a hint of concern in her faint smile. “I do hope that your discomfort is a fleeting thing, Lord Chancellor. I understand that you are scheduled to address Parliament on Monday regarding plans to wipe out the last remaining shreds of the rebel forces.”

His fleshy face reflected his confusion. “I was… was unaware that my address had been announced to members of the public. How…?” He swayed, his breathing now coming ever more quickly, eyes shifting in and out of focus.

He glanced more urgently at the exit. “I must go now, but please, if you would be so kind, tell me your name, my dear…”

Her dark eyes were bottomless as she pursed her lips and whispered to him.

“Miranda.”

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The End