It wasn’t gorram fair. Only reason they’d gotten the best of the crooks… okay, the other crooks… on that puny moon was that his thrillin’ heroics has pulled Mal’s ass outta the fire. A-gain. And what did he have to show for it. A noisy stick. What did Mal get? A woman. And not just any woman… real hellcat by the looks of ‘er, for all her prissy ways. Heh. Jayne’d had some wild rides off’f more’n one prissy repressed female. Two of ‘em, that one time.

Speaking of prissy, only reason Mal hadn’t traded her for the rainstick was he already had a bigger one up his fundament. Probably why he was always wandering ‘round the ship, instead of sitting and taking it easy as a normal man like Jayne would if he were rutting in charge.

On this occasion, even the usually highlarious image of Mal buggered wasn’t enough to cheer up our hero. He lay there on his bunk a minute, cranky and horny, and realized he’d have to get out the big guns to return to his usual friendly self; yanking aside the curtain next to his bunk, his gaze slid over the number of weapons he had handily and secretly stowed. A hand followed his gaze. All his guns were named after women he’d had. Well… except for Dave. But that rifle had come with that name, didn’t mean nothing.

Hell, a gun was better than yer average woman. Maybe Mal could be convinced to trade. Surely even he could be reasonable sometimes. A gun could be more fun than a woman. Could be cleaner; man didn’t get ever get sick from no gun, lest you counted gettin’ shot. Pretty damn sight more dependable not to shoot off all random and damage some poor idgit without good reason, too. The right gun used right could give a man a lot of pleasure.

Damn Mal all to Hell, though. He’d probably get all high-n-mighty, about how the bitch was a person or something, and try to thusly bargain up. Jayne started to close the curtain, but thought about how Mal was even harder up for trim than he himself. And that was some damn hot little piece, and worth a solid try at her. Hell, all told, maybe… maybe she was even worth…

Vera.

Jayne gently took her down from the wall rack. This was a gorram fine gun, hard won. He’d never had his hands on a better. He thought again about how much Vera herself would’ve loved this gun, and then he thought about certain things concerning Vera herself, and he felt himself get as hard as the gun’s barrel. He lay down in his bunk, one hand on his gun and the other on… his other one… and commenced to rememberin’….

***

Vera’d strolled into town so casual and like she belonged that, with experienced hindsight, he could see it was certainly for some nefarious purpose. He’d often himself slipped into some backwater pissant village to hide out for a month or several… but this was way before he could recognize such things. He’d been durn near 17 years then, but looked several years shy of that, and hadn’t got the puniest kiss of off even the right homely girls in town. It caused his mother no small distress, but to give her credit she did mostly hide it well to his face.

She and her six older daughters had the farm well in hand, and the small fry of him just got in the way. Easier on her if any courting he did was well in the future; he could just fend for himself until then. And so he did, showing up to sleep and for meals (when the big bullying sisters would let him get a scrap) and the occasional maternal pat on the head (when the big bullying sisters would let him get a scrap.) Little Jayne had grown himself up mostly, in whatever part of the farm had been most out of the way at the time-- awkward, quiet and scrawny, but he got by because his dreams were small. Like everyone else’s.

Then Vera came down surface, smelling like dreams that needed the width of the entire ‘verse to contain ‘em. He had never imagined anything like her. She was maybe forty, maybe a hard-living thirty, or a scary hardened twenty-five. Been pretty, once. The boy followed her around a full week, careful to never let her see. Watched her drink large, talk large, she probably even slept large. She pissed standing up. Occasionally she’d be in the saloon with loud laughing strangers who’d shuttle over from what passed as a spaceport, over yonder the river, and he’d listen to their boasts, and the clink of hard currency. Sometimes she’d walk well outside of town, and spend the day in various kinds of complex shooting practice, talking to herself.

It was one of those times, when Jayne was hidden neatly behind a dirt outcrop, that she stopped her monologue with exasperation. Without turning or lowering her weapon’s sights, she said, just loud enough for him to clearly hear, “You might as well come on out, son. All your stompin’ and clatterin’s been a distraction to me all week.” She dropped her stance. “It was good focusing practice for a while there, but now it’s just getting to be an annoyance.” She marched directly to where Jayne was hiding. “Go on home now kid.” She hitched her head toward town, and spoke more firmly. “Go on now.” And he loped off like a kicked puppy.

But each day following she had to run him off again at some time or another. After another week, when she told him to go home as usual, he just stared at the ground, and didn’t budge.

“Well?” she said. “Yer feet glued down?” Jayne mumbled something at his too-big feet. And when he got no answer he took a deep breath, looked her full in the eyes for the first time and barreled forth like a locomotive with “I wanna learn to shoot like you no one else on this moon looks like they can shoot worth nothin’ now you’re here I wanna shoot and fly off to other moons and have adventures and stories, and drink, and fight, and do what men do.”

“You… did notice I’m a woman, din’tch’a boy?” She said, with what might have been a scowl, or a smile, or both.

“I…uh… yeah. I guess. But you do those things anyhow. Uh… look, you gonna teach me or what? I’m just gonna keep coming back ‘til you do. Or ‘til ya shoot me.”

She turned and spat on the ground, and stared off the horizon. “I ain’t no ruttin’schoolmarm. I’m too mean.” After a pause, she did look to Jayne sideways like, looked him up and down thoroughly, then squinted into his eyes a good while. “But tell you what, you stick around and be useful, I might let you learn some.” She stuck out her hand. “Name’s Vera. Means “truth”. If we was fancy core planet folk, anyways. Hey, you ready to face truth, shake it by the hand?” And then she did laugh, like a merry crow with advanced emphysema.

“I reckon, if it’ll get me off this rock. I’m Jayne.” He reached out to shake, and she just looked at him dangerously.

“ 'Jayne'? Don’t shit me.”

“Ma had six girls. I was gonna be seventh.”

She barked a laugh and slapped her hand into his before he had a chance to feel self pity. “Well alright then Jayne, pay attention and grab tight to your unexpected balls. Here we go.”

***

This passed quickly and simplistically through Jayne’s mind in his bunk, since at times like this he usually didn’t even bother with it, so’s he could get to the good fun part quicker. So likewise sped the months of target practice that evolved into basics of tracking, hunting, sniper practice, pickpocket lessons, bribery, gun care, first aid and jest plain sneak-spying, as Jayne proved to have some natural talent at gun work. He sat in with her occasional cronies, and heard tales that taught him the value of focus, guile and various tactics of trickery. He also heard of the foolishness of some assholes, and resolved to learn from their sorry mistakes, mayhap use such things against them. Sometimes when someone small, ignorable, and unknown to the authorities was useful, he’d fly off-world briefly with her pals to run “odd jobs”; if his ma ever noticed, she didn’t complain. And he certainly never apprised her of any small mysterious monies he’d acquire.

At Vera’s suggestion, he’d started doing straight jobs around town, if they required any sort of heavy lifting or physical labor, to build up the boy’s strength to something at all useful, and to get him used to the idea of hard work. Kid seemed to think there was some shortcut to fortune, waiting just a bit further out into the Black, and that was a hampering distraction to him, in her opinion.

After about a twelve-month of “schooling”, Jayne was helping a tradesman unload some boxes from a wagon as Vera came to collect him for the day’s activites. It was a hot day, and he had his shirt off. He was half-aware of her looking at him with a thoughtful yet vaguely surprised look, which in latter times alone in his bunk became wide-eyed lustfulness. The look briefly dropped lower and then disappeared behind her usual smug grin as he turned to acknowledge her.

“Morning, Teach!” he called out, and hopped lithely off the wagon bed. “What amusing hijinks are in store for us today? Hey, we’re gonna make some of them sunk point bullets, right?” he quietly said with glee as he got in conversation distance.

With a level look she said “Knock off the ‘Teach’, son. How many times does it want telling? Anyways I just now had me a better thought. In the saloon I heard folk talking of a pack of migrating ducks in the woods just over yonder Fuller’s Creek. Easy pickings, a bird with every shot, even with your eyes closed.” She inspected her fingernails, for what one couldn’t say.

“Well, you can’t get there and back in a day, that’s for sure, and that’s not even counting time to hunt.” replied Jayne.

“Your ma gonna worry, holding supper for you ‘til you get home? Maybe call the sheriff when your dinner gets cold?” she gently taunted.

“Ha. Right.” sniggered Jayne. “Just need extra time to pack my Sunday clothes, ‘case we get delayed and gotta have church with the ducks.” They shared a laugh as they each went off to prepare for their trip, as they had many times before.

All was as usual until Jayne was poking up the campfire that night. Vera was lying in her unzipped sleeping bag, watching what he was doing. Finally she barked out a bit irritably. “Lay off that blessed thing, and c’mere a spell.”

He was a bit concerned at the prospect that he’d fucked up without knowing. It was hard to say whether the edge of her hand or tongue was the sharper instrument. So he hopped to. “What’s up, Vera?”

She softened her voice a bit, after a barely noticeable but uncharacteristic hesitation. “I’m curious about something. Take your shirt off.”

“Uh. What?”

“Like on the wagon, boy. Shirt now. Off.”

He shrugged, squatted next to her, and did as he was told. He continued to look at her questioningly.

“Hmmmm…” she said, scrutinizing him solemnly. “Just as I thought…”

“What? I got a rash or something?” Jayne craned his neck around to his back, started pawing at his skin to try to see in the dark what was wrong with him, and starting to itch.

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s just you’re getting some manly and impressive muscular bulk, you know, sinews and the like, and it surprised me I hadn’t noticed. ‘Course I could be wrong, it being dark now and all.”

“Naw,” he proudly exclaimed, “you ain’t a bit wrong. Lookit!” And he flexed an arm, making a smallish, but definitely present bicep show. Vera obligingly put her hand on it to fully appreciate it. He continued, “I’ve noticed it too. It’s all that honest work I been doing. I think maybe soon some girl’s gonna notice, and boy, then… awww, gorram it, I’m gonna fuckin’ explode and die before then. I’m losing my rutting mind. What’m I gonna do?” He flung himself dejectedly down to sit next to her.

Vera could hardly conceal a wolfy grin. She allowed her hand to roam a bit. “We-hel my lad, good thing you’ve got me here. I’ll tell you a secret about us dastardly old ladies. When we size up a man for certain skills, like for a fight or a con, you can’t help but learn to size up other skills right alongside. Cookery maybe…. Or…. what he might be in the sack.”

She smiled as guileless a smile as ever got a sucker shot in the back. “Now, them pretty silly girlies in town ain’t got my wisdom and insightedness. One of them may get around to noticing you in a month or three, or six…” Jayne groaned miserably, face to the heavens. “…or we can take care of some things here and now. I do of course know I ain’t much to look at, and you can certainly choose to wait for some dainty treat. And I admit I’ve put in my share of time in this ‘verse… but I also admit I’ve made some concerted use of that time.”

She leaned forward with a leer, playing on Jayne’s love of the instantly gratifying gain. “And I’ll show you things better than shooting, or even drinking and fighting. I know you’ll pay close attention. And when those pretty dears finally wise up, You. Will spoil them. For other men. You’ll cut a swath through any world you set your foot upon.”

Jayne was unable to move. This was the white storeboughten sugar frosting on top of the big cake of his dreams of escape. He had not even thought beyond the town, what a dang fool he was, to imagine a universe full of female flesh, heh, probably grateful admiring female flesh, willing to do…whatever he was gonna figure out how to do…moons and planets of ‘em. His mouth hung open for a full minute.

“Or,” she said “if you’re not interested, no worries. I’m gonna get me some sleep. It’s been a long trip anyhow.” And she leaned back against her bedroll, sliding her hat over her eyes.

“What the…!” Jayne scrambled to his feet, almost falling twice because he was fumbling at his pants. “What’re you trying to do to me Teach? You sick of me, trying to do me in? Hell no, I ain’t waitin’!” and he finally managed to get his pants mostly off, and landed on his knees next to her.

“Glad to hear you’re a sensible boy. And you really oughta knock off that “Teach” shit now. It’s disturbing.”

Jayne awkwardly grabbed one of her breasts, and grinned. “And I reckon you can knock off the “Boy” and “Son” crap.”

She placed her hand on top of his, and squeezed. “…I reckon so.”

***

Now, at this juncture in the proceedings, Jayne would usually commence to alter scenarios as his whim took him, not feeling compelled to rerun that first time over and over. Frankly, it hadn’t been his best work, and that’s to be expected but it was still a bit embarrassing and unarousing and all. That last month she was around, there was a different sort of gunplay going on, of various varieties, all of which were fodder for Jayne’s present imagination. While remembering, he’d manage to make good use of the nice nooks and such he’d found on the second Vera, to rub against while he pondered with what little brain he’d still have left…

And usually in his imagination she’d become a bit younger and better put-together, and let’s be honest she’d smell a bit nicer, too. Sometimes she’d come to look like the last whore he’d had… or the next. Heh. Or that snooty Inara, or tasty little Kaylee… like the whole ship couldn’t hear her buzzing away down there in her desperation, or at least they could if they stood in the hallway listening, you couldn’t get no damn privacy on a tiny spit of a ship like this any damn how.

Once he’d fantasized giving it to Zoë right under Wash’s nose, but the whole next day it seemed like she could tell, and it scared the balls off him to try it again.

But this time, all that didn’t seem right. It wasn’t manly to think of another woman while saying a proper good bye to another. If this was his last time with Vera, he wanted to make the most of it, and so did manage to stay with a mostly accurate woman doing various actual things they’d done. Mostly. Anyways, it was immensely satisfying.

Afterwards, Jayne cleaned off the gun, and polished it. It had to look nice to convince Mal, and well, he just wanted her to look pretty. Rubbed it, this time with a cloth, ‘til it fair shone. It looked Rich. He just hoped Mal knew enough about guns to know what a deal he was being offered. This was the best gun you could find, anywhere. Dammit, if Mal would just listen for a change, it would go off perfect. Not, the gun of course. The trade.

***

Later on, back in his bunk, Jayne curled around the gun that for some unfathomable reason Mal had rejected. Nonetheless, Jayne felt an inexplicable amount of… well, bad-feeling-wrong-thing. Something, whatever that stuff was.

“Vera, you know I’d never have given you up. You know I’d’ve gone and stolen you back, soon as I had the chance, when he was distracted with some ship-captainy bullshit or other. It was just a chance at a real live woman, and a choice one at that. You understand, dontcha?”

And this Vera of course understood. As he curled up around the weapon for comfort, he remembered the last thing the woman had said to him: “Seems I’ve given you the truth of yourself. You can stay mad at me and try to forget it, from vengefulness… but I don’t think you can. Not and stay a man.”

As Jayne drifted off to sleep, she thought about how they don’t make guns like this anymore. Nor women anymore either. He hadn’t loved her, but still… His body warmed the cold metal, and he cried himself to sleep so quietly that he could pretend not to hear it. Not even in a tiny spit of a ship, rushing away to fame and fortune in the Black.