Jayne couldn’t figure it out.

He sat on the catwalk and dangled his legs. As far as people were concerned, Serenity was silent. The occasional moan and groan as it kept its course in space made Jayne almost believe it was alive, like Kaylee imagined all the time.

He sipped at a flask he kept in his cargo pants and winced at the aftertaste. Good stuff. It kept him awake; he wanted to be awake tonight. No use tryin’ to sleep with his thoughts bangin’ a gong.

He chuckled half-crazed. The rest of the crew would have loads to say about him if they knew he wrestled with a dilemma. Jayne? Naw, he’s too pig-headed and in the gutter.

But, that’s what it was, plain an’ simple: a dilemma.

Since Canton the week before, Jayne had thought way too hard about his experience. Let’s see, he’d had some fun pretendin’ he was a big-shot hero-- had a fine night with a pretty Mudder to boot-- but the teeny honest part of Jayne nagged at him in the morning. In the end he’d fessed up and spilled the beans: he was no hero, just a coward. Even knocked over the statue of hisself. He woulda left right then and there, but Stitch came out an’ pointed a well-intended gun at him. And that stupid kid, no older than 17, jumped in front of the bullet and died in the dust.

Jayne just couldn’t figure it out.

For almost a solid week, he hadn’t been able to sleep at peace for the thought of that kid. Lyin’ like a dog, in the street, shot by the man Jayne had wronged. Why’d the kid do that, save him, knowin’ full well that Jayne had stolen the money from Canton?

And Jayne had escaped death again. Did that mean the clock was a-tickin’ for him still? If one bullet doesn’t kill a man, another surely will, as Jayne’s ma always said. She said it was gonna come to her son sooner or later, the life he led.

Jayne wanted his ma. The tough guy he was, he had gone off as a teenager and never looked back—well, from time to time he did, only to think on his ma. Ma sent presents to him from that drafty farmhouse. She was near the only person who cared about him. In a lovin’ way. And she always could talk sense to a person.

He took another swig from his flask, but only a few drops spilled into his mouth. In disgust, he got to his feet and stuffed the flask into a pocket on his pants. Now, where to get some good liquor?

Kaylee. The little girl made a good brew. Terrible, but good. Fit his mood. Jayne would gladly boil his liver in vinegar at this rate.

He made his way to the engine room as quiet-like as he could, though his feet had a hard time keepin’ a low profile. Combat boots don’t make for easy goin’ on a silent ship, even for the soberest man.

“Kaylee?” whispered Jayne. “Ya here?”

She often slept in a hammock in the corner. Squinting into the dimly-lit engine room, Jayne peered around the doorway. The hammock was at a stupid angle for him to see a person in it.

“Kaylee?” He tried a little louder. Still no response. “Alright, I’m comin’ in, now.”

He took two steps in and looked about for the stash of liquor, which was her invention. She’d probably raise a racket if she caught him here, sneakin’ around. A careful dealer, Kaylee usually kept stuff to herself. She hated it when people pried into certain areas of her life, though she was so bubbly and girly that Jayne found it---now, what’s the word—crazy, odd, unusual. . . IRONIC! That’s it!

“HEY!” Kaylee sat up in the hammock in alarm.

Startled out of his thoughts, and still a little drunk, Jayne lost his bearings and tried to escape the engine room. His foot caught on some stray wiring from a work-in-progress fixer, which was why Kaylee was sleeping in the engine room that night. All in a second, Jayne realized these things--- and fell, face first on the floor.

When he came to, he was on his back and something soft was under his head. He opened his eyes. Kaylee’s face was all he could see in the glow from a light she must have put on.

“Ya alright?” she asked. Her pretty face, for once clean and bright, showed concern. A crinkle between her eyes. “Jayne?”

Jayne groaned. He could just understand what had happened. Tryin’ to sit up was a struggle, and Kaylee held her hands out in a cautionary gesture.

“Hey, hold your britches, there. Maybe I ought-a get Simon.”

This snapped Jayne out of it. The last thing he needed was the doc pokin’ and proddin’ and havin’ a grand ole time thinkin’ up jokes about bein’ wounded.

“Naw, I’m okay.” Jayne waved a hand and held his head with his other hand. “Just a bit out-a sorts.”

She sat back on her heels and waited patiently as he scrambled around and situated himself with his back to the wall. The blood in his head danced a jig, but otherwise, he felt okay.

“Watch-a doin’ here, Jayne? Ya scared me near to the grave,” Kaylee scolded, but Jayne heard relief in her voice.

“Oh, ah, I was lookin’ fer the liquor you’ve been brewin’. I emptied my stash from our last stop planet-side, and I figgered you’d have some fer me ta use.”

His words slurred slightly. Kaylee still looked concerned; she wasn’t mad. For some reason, he cared whether she felt anythin’. Usually, he made sure she thought he hated her; not because he did, but because —well, hell if he should know why he did anythin’!

“I don’t keep much in here. Serenity keeps the rest hid, Cap’n’s orders.” She tilted her head in curiosity. “Why d’ya need more? You’re near drunk as it is.”

“Well, that’s my own business,” he muttered. He was disappointed that Kaylee didn’t seem to want to give him any liquor.

She pursed her lips in thought. “Now, Jayne, I’m stickin’ in where I don’t belong, but,” she inched closer and sat on her bottom, “does any of this hafta do with that matter in Canton?”

“No,” he answered too quickly, he knew. With all his experience as a mercenary, he had learned how to lie, but this time he couldn’t keep the barrier up so well.

“I noticed you’re not sleepin’ too good, and you can sleep through gunfights.”

He glared at her. “That’s. My. Business.”

They sat there for some moments, not sayin’ a word.

“It’s not your fault,” she said quietly.

Jayne didn’t want to think on it, but he couldn’t ignore Kaylee’s statement. It WAS his fault. The kid chose to jump in front of a bullet, and Jayne had done bad things that put him in that situation. Jayne had never had to face what he’d gone an’ done before. He did his job, or acted in a fit of some emotion, and left with nary a worry that it’d bite him in the rear end. Enough planets and towns for a man to get lost.

“You know it is,” he said.

“It’s that man’s fault, HE killed the kid. You certainly didn’t help, but you didn’t make the kid get shot, you didn’t make the kid jump in the way, you didn’t pull the trigger.”

“THAT MAN wouldn’t have threatened to kill that pansy doc of your, neither,” Jayne pointed out. He felt he had a good stance on that.

“I know you don’t like Simon, but that won’t make me think that your actions a few years ago set it up for him to almost get shot.” Kaylee pointed her right arm to the past. “Pushin’ over that statue, confessin’ your crime? You were bein’ more of a man than I’ve ever seen of ya when hell broke out in that Mudder town.”

“Are ya kiddin’?” He couldn’t believe what she just said. It was weird hearin’ a compliment. “I’m a merc. I play to my benefit, and when things get out-a hand, I get nice.” Though, he didn’t even know what he meant by that. His head was swimmin’ and he could’ve talked all in hullabaloo.

“Jayne What-ever-your-middle-name-is Cobb! You’re a thief, and a murderin’ lout, but you can’t possibly believe that I’d say a nice thing about you and not be meanin’ it.”

She got to her feet and looked down at him, a mother hen to a wanderin’ chick. And Jayne felt good, being snapped back to near sobriety. It was like his ma had come clear from home to scold him.

With some difficulty, he heaved himself up. Kaylee was fit to be tied, hoppin’ mad. Either a hurt look or a glare or frustration, it didn’t matter. Jayne was just glad things were back to normal.

“Well, you’ve got lots to say, girly, but you ain’t changin’ my mind,” he said to her face. “I am a murderin’ lout.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Fèihuà! And a thief. An’ a lyin’—LIAR!”

Then she must have realized how loud she’d gotten. She calmed down a bit and eyed Jayne suspiciously.

“You’re just gettin’ me riled. Why are you always like this? Never happy. Ya dwellin’ in pity, and I’m tryin’ to be helpful.”

He let himself show through his thick skin a little. “All I wanted was the brew. I NEED the brew.”

She eyed him still. “No. You don’t need it. Anyhow, I think you need to sober up and think proper about this.”

This surprised him. Kaylee was from tough stock, naive though she could be. Born and bred on the rim, thrivin’ on the Black, and she understood the purpose of the drink. A man needed it to escape his surroundings. Life wasn’t nearly as livable as it ought-a be. She was brought up just like him. That why I pick on her so?

He couldn’t say the things he said to her, if it were any of the other crew. Jayne had no bone to pick with Book, him bein’ a preacher; Zoe would’ve shot him long ago; Mal would’ve thrown him off the ship; Wash would’ve found the perfect quip then hid behind Zoe. The doc wasn’t worth it, his sis was addle-pate and they weren’t crew anyway.

The mercenary part of him wanted to switch sides with the changin’ of the wind, so Jayne let hisself say whatever came to him when he was around the crew. Mal didn’t take it too kindly, but words were harmless. As soon as he was tailcoat, however, Jayne knew he would be thrown off, or killed outright.

So, Kaylee kept Jayne in line. A scapegoat, but one that Jayne suspected had a tougher skin than everyone thought. She could handle it; she absorbed his comments, took them mostly in her stride. Hurt or indignant, Kaylee always bounced back.

“Well, I won’ t make it back to my bunk. I guess I’ll use a chair in the galley. Sorry for disturbin’ ya.” He saluted Kaylee and turned to go.

“Wait,” she ordered. “Use my hammock.”

Jayne turned back to her with a question in his eyes.

She motioned to the project she was workin’ on. “This’ll wait ‘til tomorrow anyways. And I have a bunk of my own.”

As if to welcome him further, she took her pillow and replaced it with a balled up extra blanket, and patted the hammock. “Go on, ya dàigua.”

“No kiss goodnight?”

With an exasperated sigh and roll of the eyes, Kaylee grabbed her pillow and left the engine room.

Jayne rolled into the hammock and sighed in relief, the dizziness left him. He was relaxed of a sudden, and he was pretty sure why. He closed his eyes and smiled. Yep, Kaylee kept him goin’.

Chinese:

Fèihuà= useless words (literally “no shit”)

Dàigu¬a= fool, dummy (gua means “gourd” or “melon”)