Posting this for oldfan45: I may not have anything new to offer, but there are still some stories in the old archive I can post here.

I should have presented this one sooner--my very first "Firefly" story, a response to the last moments of "Ariel." It's been revised very slightly from the version that was on my web page.

The usual disclaimers apply.

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"Things Not Smooth" (c) HawkMoth, 11/19/2002

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"It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance."

"It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand."

--Frodo and Gandalf, "The Fellowship of the Ring" 2001

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It was time to be gone, to be done with the whole sorry mess.

Except it wasn't entirely over.

"What're you gonna tell the others?"

The plaintive question halted his next footfall. Reluctantly, Mal brought the radio up to his mouth. "About what?"

"About why I'm dead."

"Hadn't thought about it." No, not one gorram bit. But there'd be questions, and what answers could he give? Not that it mattered--he was the captain, and that should be more than enough sufficient answer.

Jayne's face was a contorted blur through the bay window. "Make something up. Don't tell 'em what I did."

Was that guilt in his voice? Remorse? Or just the same cold self-centeredness that always motivated Jayne? A person like that never had a conscience, would never grow one.

Right?

And what could he make up that any of his crew would believe?

The sound of Serenity trying to break atmo with an open air lock grew louder. It hurt. Mal reached down and shut the hatch, letting her fly free.

He strode back to the window and glared in, ignoring the relief on Jayne's face. "The next time you decide to stab me in the back, have the guts to do it to my face." He dropped the radio and walked away, wondering if he'd accomplished anything at all.

Jayne called something out, but Mal was too far up the stairs to hear it clearly. He didn't care. Let the bastard sweat some more. Let him stay there and ponder on the error of his ways.

Mal left the upper catwalk, entered the accessway, then hesitated. Rightly, he should go to the bridge and order a course, carry on business as usual. But he felt a sudden need to hunt down some of Kaylee's latest brew, and wash the foulness out of his mouth and brain.

He turned the corner and Zoe was just there, watching him calmly. Her steadfastness usually served them well, but he knew better than anyone--'cept maybe Wash--the kind of logical ruthlessness that lay just beneath that serene and lovely surface.

"Sir." It was more of a question than a greeting.

"Zoe."

Her gaze flickered over his shoulder. "Cargo secured, sir?"

"It is." He'd done it quick by himself, waiting for Jayne to wake up in the air lock.

"Any problems, sir?"

He could lie to anyone, but it was always harder to lie to her. "No. Should there be?"

She leaned up against the bulkhead, arms folded. "Not sure, Captain. It's just that Wash noticed a warning light from the cargo bay. Outer hatch was open. Seemed a bit peculiar, while we were heading up."

Mal turned so she wouldn't see his hand clutching the railing too tight. "You didn't call down to see if there was a problem," he said mildly.

"We thought maybe you'd found some fei-hua in the cargo that needed to be dumped. Then the light went green, just as we broke atmo. So we figured everything was under control."

He nodded. "You figured right."

A distant thud sounded from below. Then another.

Zoe glanced down briefly. "Plan went wrong with Jayne, didn't it, sir?"

Mal closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at her directly. "Figured that out too, did ya?"

"You can't trust him, Captain."

"I never have--not completely. You know that."

"But you took a chance, leaving him in charge of Simon and River," she said.

He thumped a fist against the railing. "Every job is a risk, Zoe," he reminded her. "This time, I took a chance that the value of our haul would outweigh the temptation of an Alliance payoff." He shrugged helplessly. "Guess I was wrong. Only good thing is that the Feds played by their rules, and Jayne managed to save Simon and River while trying to save his own sorry ass."

Zoe moved to his side, in tacit support. After a moment, she spoke. "Are you going to tell them?"

"Hell, I don't know." He shook his head, weary of it all. "Reckon they'll suss it out?"

"Hard to say, sir. Simon looked a mite thoughtful on the way back. No use speculatin' what River may think."

"Kaylee?"

"She'll notice you're not happy, but she may think the plan went wrong 'cause Jayne or Simon got careless. Inara and the Shepherd might think that, too. But there could still be questions."

Mal turned and looked down over the rail. "Don't matter much. We'll play those cards when they fall, not before. Dong-ma?"

"Yes, sir."

They heard another desperate thump from below.

"And Jayne?" Zoe asked. "How do we play him?"

"For now, he's getting himself some schoolin'. For the later--we keep him on a tighter leash, is all." He spoke past her look of doubt. "Watch our backs--watch everybody's back. Jayne has those special qualities we prize so highly in our line of work. He may be an ornery, back-stabbing son of a bitch, but he's still part of this crew. We took a chance taking 'em all on, Zoe. It was just a bigger chance with him."

He gazed at her evenly, until she gave him a nod of agreement.

"All right. Go tell Wash to take a cautious route picking up Shepherd--he'll understand if we ain't on time. Then we need us a nice, meandering course to the Rim. And keep watching the Cortex for any Alliance chatter."

"Yes, sir." She headed back to the bridge.

Mal drew himself up, watching her go. It might have been simpler if he'd just sent the bastard back to the world. Might never have a smooth plan again, this way. How far could that leash be tightened without choking Jayne?

There was no telling if the lesson would take.

If the next time came, there would be no room for second chances, second thoughts, or mercy.

There'd have to be an end.

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