Title: How A Gun is Like a Woman Author: hisgoodgirl

Disclaimer: Firefly, Serenity and all related characters are copyright 2002-2005 Mutant Enemy, Inc., Universal Pictures and 20th Century Fox. This is a work of fan fiction and no copyright infringement is intended. Paring: Canon, possible pre-Jaylee Setting: During the series Word Count: 1300 +

Auhor’s Note: First fic in a LONG time. Just trying to shake the rust off, folks. Feedback is real shiny!

HOW A GUN IS LIKE A WOMAN

Deep in the belly of a midbulk transport, somewhere in the vast dark nothingness between the worlds of Beaumonde and Three Hills, a young woman turned in the confines of her bunk, eyelids twitching.

Kaylee startled awake from a dream, hazel eyes flicking open to the soft illumination provided by the miniature lanterns dangling over her bunk. The deep reassuring vibration of Serenity’s drive and ventilation system enfolded her and she smiled, stretching and yawning sleepily. She listened carefully to the spaceship’s familiar hum. No random hiccups or shudders to suggest ‘her girl’ needed fussing with – always a good thing to her mind.

0200 hours… Middle of the night and likely everyone asleep but Zoe, up on the bridge.

Kaylee raked her fingers through the tangles in her hair. Whatever her dream had been about, all memory of the specifics had fled, leaving her sufficiently unsettled there was no way she’d return to sleep. Normally, her slumber was filled with nostalgia for the rolling prairie back home on Harvest and fragmented memories of a dozen different Rim worlds vied with glittering dreams of fancy dress balls and the occasional erotic fantasy.

Most of her romantic dreams centered on one Simon Tam, physician and fugitive, but lately - much to her bewilderment - her dreams occasionally placed her in the arms of a darker partner: the ship’s rough gunhand, Jayne Cobb. While the latter unquestionably knew exactly what to do with women and had proven himself perfectly willing to pay to do it with many of them, Kaylee had yet to find comfort with the messages from her subconscious signaling her growing attraction to the merc.

“Guess I might as well go make some tea,” she told herself. “Ain’t gettin’ back to sleep anyways.”

Deciding that her oversized T-shirt offered modesty enough for a short foray to the galley, Kaylee yawned again, quickly climbing the ladder to the ship’s fore corridor. The corridor itself was dark, save the tiny lights over her hatchway and the dim night-time running lights. At the far aft end, the yellow-painted common area glowed like a lantern through another hatchway. Somebody’s awake after all, she thought with some surprise, realizing half-way down the corridor that Jayne was up doing gun maintenance – again. His broad back and spreading shoulders strained the tight blue fabric of his T-shirt. Dark head bowed over his task, he deftly worked on the tools of his trade. She quietly padded down the steps into the Commons.

“Why ain’t you asleep?” he growled without looking up.

He’d spread a worn old buff towel across one end of the big oak table where the crew gathered for meals. An assortment of small wire brushes, picks, screwdrivers, a tin of gun oil, swabs and other arcane implements Kaylee was unable to identify were scattered before him, along with a semi-automatic pistol he’d already cleaned and the broken-down components of his ever-present LeMat revolver.

Jayne had a knack for stating the obvious, well, obviously.

“Don’t it seem likely I’d be sleepin’ if I could sleep?” she teased. “Thought I’d make some tea. You want any?” she asked, already knowing his answer.

“Nah.” He hefted his blue enameled mug in salute. “This batch a hooch turned out better’n usual. Right fine, as a matter of fact.” He took a sip and winked at her over the rim.

“Suit yourself,” she tossed back. “Probably was all them apple cores.” She stood for a moment, hands on her hips, and studied the big man as he worked.

Jayne screwed his mouth tight with concentration and began to reassemble the big pistol, stopping to take note of one particular screw in the frame assembly. His brow furrowed as he eased the set screw in and out with tiny twitches of a screwdriver.

Kaylee noticed his consternation. “Got a problem?”

“Nothin’ a decent gunsmith with a tap-an’-die rig can’t fix. Thread’s’r worn and the gorram screw wants to work loose.” He looked up at her and smiled softly.

Unconsciously smiling back, she was startled to realize that when Jayne smiled, he was actually a right fair looking fella. The thought filled her with sudden shyness and she turned away.

In the Firefly’s tiny galley, Kaylee filled a battered old kettle with water from the tap and set it to boil over one of the heater eyes. She rose on tip-toes to rummage in her food locker for her favorite tea, a fragrant mixture of lemon and spices, thinking how curious it was that something simple as tea could be so comforting.

Taking a mug, the one painted with ladybugs, she dropped in one of the teabags before adding a dollop of honey from the ship’s stores, silently thanking Inara for her generosity in providing such a luxury. When the kettle keened, she tipped the boiling water into her cup, swirling it with a spoon to dissolve the honey. The beloved, soothing aroma rose to fill her nose.

Might as well be sociable, she told herself, heading for the table. Jayne had begun work on a small hold-out gun he sometimes carried, meticulously removing the powder residue from the pistol’s barrel. She pulled out a chair to the merc’s left and sat down, studying him as he worked while she waited for her tea to cool a bit. He hummed softly to himself, his mouth still quirked in a faint smile. The intensity of his focus held something almost hawk-like.

“You sure do love them guns,” Kaylee finally observed. “Take good care of ’em, too.”

“Yep.” His frank blue eyes met hers. No leer, just honesty. “Pays to, when your life depends on it.” His hardened hand stroked across the LeMat’s checkered grip with a caress that was almost erotic in its intimacy. The gesture triggered an unexpected a catch deep in the girl’s belly, her soft intake of breath not lost on the gunhand.

“You touched that gun almost like a man might touch a woman,” Kaylee noted with some wonder, the words out of her mouth before she could recall them. Guns and women were constants in Jayne Cobb’s life.

He laughed, low and dry. “Yeah, well, they both got plenty in common.” Seeing Kaylee’s puzzled expression, he began to elaborate. “Think about it, girl. Both gotta be handled with care an’ need a firm hand. Ignore ’em, and both can get right temperamental.” He picked up the LeMat, the huge revolver perfectly proportioned to his large right hand, and traced the weapon’s lines with the fingers of his left. “Woman or gun, a well-made one’s a pleasure to use.” Now the leer, accompanied by a blatant smirk.

Kaylee’s cheeks flushed hot and her eyes dropped to the clasped hands in her lap before rising back to meet his.

Jayne continued, enjoying her discomfort. “Hard for a fella to survive long without both of ’em, least far as I’m concerned.” His face took on a contemplative expression as he reflected on the parallels. “A bad woman an’ a bad gun’ll both kill ya deader’n hell,” he observed emphatically, then summed up, “There’s one more thing…”

Unconsciously, Kaylee leaned closer, unaware of how brightly her eyes shown, her full lips falling softly open. “Yeah?” she asked.

“Both’ll make a helluva racket, you pull the trigger right!”

Kaylee’s jaw dropped. “You’re a rude man, Jayne Cobb,” she chided.

“Yeah I am.” He looked smug, utterly unapologetic. “Never claimed otherwise.”

She shoved her chair back and rose quickly. The blush on her cheeks deepened when he winked at her again, and she whirled away lest her mere presence be construed as encouragement. “I am going t’bed,” she tossed over her shoulder.

Jayne’s final words replayed in her head as she walked briskly to her bunk. Get tired of wastin’ your time on Mr. Fancy Pants, baby girl, you know who to come see.”

END