He was good – a master at his craft. Self-made too, taken out into the ‘verse too soon, having to learn how to deal with it the best he could. He was lucky, finding people willing to help him rather than kill him, at least until he was able to defend himself. And he got better, building on his natural abilities and honing them to a knife’s edge.

She was a weapon, made by others. It should never have happened, but it did, and there was no point in crying over it, like her brother did at times. Make the best of it, that was his opinion, maybe hunt down the hwoon dahn who cut into her, but use what they did to her to be the best weapon she could be.

Truth was, she could take care of herself, and yet he had still pushed her out of the way of the bullet, taking it himself, feeling it rip into his chest, taking his breath even as he fell to the blood-soaked earth.

He didn’t remember much about the next hours – or maybe days – except for the pain, and that drifted away when the doc gave him some of the good drugs. People had come to see him, unless they were hallucinations, but none of them looked happy. Which seemed odd to him. Didn’t they like it that he was still alive? Or maybe …

She came last. He’d been dozing, troubled thoughts disturbing his dreams, and when he opened his eyes she was standing next to him, a somber expression on her face.

He swallowed, screwing his courage to the wall and knowing he had to ask. “’M I dying, moonbrain?”

“Yes.”

His eyes widened. “I am?”

“You asked and I answered truthfully.” She blinked. “For a given value of dying.”

Now his gaze narrowed. “Huh?”

“You are dying. But only in as much as we’re all dying from the moment we’re born.”

“You making fun o’me?”

“No. Trying to be honest.”

“Crazy, if’n you don’t tell me straight, I'm gonna get up off the bed and come and give you such a hiding, you won’t be able to sit down for a week.”

“That could kill you quicker.”

About to attempt to haul himself upright he paused, pondering her words. At least two meanings, even to a brain as unused to thinking as his. Getting up might tear the doc’s careful stitching open. And touching her in anger might be just the excuse she needed to rip his head off. He took a deep breath. “Mooney, am I dying?” he asked, enunciating every word as clearly as he could.

“You mean now?” When he nodded she went on, “No. Not today.”

“You sure?”

“Simon is very good.”

“Then I'm gonna get better?”

“Are already.” Her hand fluttered over his chest. “Tissue is regenerating, blood vessels strengthening ...” She flashed a smile. “You will live. For now.”

“Thanks.” He shifted slightly and a stab of pain indicated he wasn’t maybe as well as he’d like to think.

“I can get something for you,” she offered.

Images of her putting together a concoction from whatever she could find made the pain seem dull in comparison. “Uh, no. Thanks.”

“No. I should thank you.” Her eye brow lifted. “Although I was going to duck.”

“’Kay. Next time I won’t bother.”

“Next time I'll save you.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“Can if I want.”

She leaned close, her breath on his cheek, and all of a sudden he realised it was far better to think of icebergs, cold, cold showers, and being tossed out of the airlock than noticing how good she smelled, a mixture of the Geranium perfume Kaylee had given her on her last birthday, and the soft soap Inara had made her buy.

Her lips twitched.

“You reading me?” he asked hesitantly.

“Only your face,” she whispered. “I don't need to dip into that morass.”

“Come again?”

She sighed, and he could feel it in every hair of his goatee. “Man with a girl’s name, your ignorance is astounding.”

“Maybe it is,” he blustered. “But least I don’t pretend to be a genius.”

“I'm not pretending.” Her mouth curved. “You show your emotions on your face,” she explained, lifting her hand to trace his jaw without touching. “All I have to do is look between the lines.”

“You’re makin’ less sense than usual,” he bluffed.

“Of course. Crazy lunatic assassin. That’s how they made me,” she said, her fingers so close to his cheek that he could swear she was leaving prints on his skin. “But that was a long time ago. What I am now is more, because I have grown.”

“Yeah?” His mouth was dry but he still tried to dampen his lips. “Into what?”

“What do you see, Jayne?” she whispered. “A weapon? Or a woman?”

He stared into the dark chocolate orbs of her eyes, knowing that no matter what he said he was lost. Still, he tried. “Ain’t there someplace you oughtta be right now? Playing with Kaylee? Or ... or ...”

“Or what, Jayne?”

Each time she said his name a thrill went through him. “Or ...” He swallowed. “Flyin’ the ship?”

“I'm already flying,” she said, stepping back and holding her arms out, twirling around and around so her hair flew out around her head, and her dress lifted, showing her thighs.

“Shit,” he said, but it came out as a sigh.

Immediately she was back at his side, her face close to his, breathing his breath. “You didn’t answer me, Jayne. How do you see me? Weapon or woman?”

He gave up, as he was always going to give up when it came to River. Oh, he was going to fight it every step of the way, but somehow the outcome was already written. “Okay, moonbrain.” He closed his eyes. “Both.”

He didn’t see her smile, but he didn’t have to. He knew the expression lighting her face, changing it from the weapon to the woman, and making her all River. And it would take being shot another dozen times before he was going to admit he quite liked it.