Gigi Sinclair

Jayne had worked for a lot of folks, and none of them was like Mal. Most of them were black-and-white, legitimate-or-criminal (most usually criminal), fight-for-your-share-or-get-it-stolen-while-you-sleep cut-and-dried types, which wasn't always shiny, but at least you knew where you were. A few of his bosses had been greyer, folks who picked up jobs on both sides of the law, robbing old ladies one day and giving money to abused dogs the next. That was fine, too, because Jayne's philosophy of life was you could do whatever the gorram hell you wanted as long as you paid him in full and on time. Mal was none of those things, though. In a black, white and grey world, Jayne thought, Mal was bright orange plaid.

With a grunt, Jayne set the barbell back onto its supports and sat up, peeling off his T-shirt and using it to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He'd been working out extra hard since the thing on Ariel, partly because both the doc and his nutcase sister had taken to looking at him like he was the last bullet in a shop full of six- shooters, and Jayne liked to look good when he knew he was being looked at. The other reason was because Ariel had shown him just how little he knew about Mal.

He'd been crazy, trying a double-cross, but Jayne hadn't seen any other choice. It wasn't just about greed, although the money would have been nice if he'd ever gotten a look at it. It was about boundaries, and Jayne needed to know where they were. He figured Mal would either not notice, or he'd find out and kill him. Either way would have worked for Jayne, but once again, Orange Plaid Mal showed up and did something completely different.

Mal found out and not only didn't kill him, he didn't even dump Jayne on the nearest backwater planet, or turn him over to the feds. He hadn't even told the doc, and that made Jayne feel worse about the whole thing. Not only did he have a kind of painful feeling in the back of his head that he thought, after a couple of subtle talks with the preacher, might be guilt, but Jayne was even more nervous about the captain than he'd been before. If you didn't know what a guy was going to do, Jayne knew, then chances were, he would stab you in the chest while you were busy watching your back.

And Jayne never knew what Mal was going to do—about anything. One day, he'd be fussing around Inara like one of her fancy clients; the next he'd been calling her six kinds of whore and acting like she wasn't fit to shine his boots. Sometimes, he and Zoe acted like they'd handled more than each other's weapons back during the war, and probably since then, too. At other times, Mal spent so much time leaning over Wash's shoulder, Jayne thought Zoe ought to be the one sharpening her knives.

And then there was the doc.

Jayne didn't know where that stood at all. Half the time, Mal and the doc looked at each other like they were into their last round of negotiations in the downstairs room at a bordello. They'd touch each other and flirt until even Jayne, who'd grown up with five sisters and knew women were far bawdier than men could ever be, wanted to clap his hands over little Kaylee's eyes and ears and preserve her virtue. Then, before Jayne could tell Mal to get a room or give the rest of them some shore leave so he could fuck the kid all over the ship, Mal would be pushing Simon and Kaylee together like a nosy maiden aunt. It was all very confusing, and if there was one thing Jayne hated, it was being confused.

"Keeping yourself in shape?"

Jayne looked up from his towel and saw Mal sauntering in, hands in his pockets. "Don't get paid for my pretty face."

Mal smirked. "No. Probably just as well."

"What're you doing?" Jayne asked, just because silence was worse than confusion. He didn't know when Mal usually bunked down, or who he did it with, if anyone. Jayne was only up at this hour because he'd been too busy avoiding the preacher to work out during the day.

"Just locking up." Mal did that thing with his eyebrows, and Jayne wasn't sure if he was joking or not. "A little late for that, isn't it?" He waved at the equipment.

"Why? Noise keeping you awake?"

"No." Mal wandered a little closer, running a hand over the nearest barbell. He had a good body, but Jayne didn't think he worked out much. It couldn't all be left over from his days on the ranch, so Jayne figured Mal must do some other kind of exercise. If it had been anyone else, Jayne would have had a good idea about what kind of "exercise" that could be, but Mal hadn't even bedded his own gorram wife when he'd had the chance. The man was a sexual freak.

"You lift?"

"Not really. I've got better ways of expending my energy." Mal smirked.

Well, Jayne thought, maybe he wasn't that freakish after all. "The doc finally lettin' you dock your shuttle in his bay?"

Mal's smirk just got smirkier. "Hardly. The boy's not my type."

"No?" Could have fooled me, Jayne thought, but then Mal always did fool him, no matter how hard Jayne tried to figure him out.

"No. If I want effeminacy, I'll go after Inara."

Jayne blinked, trying to think of a reply. He was about to go with, "So, are you?" when Mal came even closer, so close Jayne could smell him. It wasn't a bad smell, but then, Jayne thought, his nostrils had been permanently damaged by all the time he'd spent around unwashed mercs and whores who hadn't bought new underskirts since Earth-that-was.

"And—" Mal lowered his voice a little, and it got this deep, almost gravely, quality to it. It was the kind of voice Jayne used to hope smoking cigars would give him, but all he'd got from it was a persistent cough. "If I want masculinity…" Slowly, Mal flicked his eyes up, and Jayne could have sworn he could feel the captain's gaze travel from his stomach to his chest to his face. Jayne swallowed despite himself, and he hoped Mal hadn't noticed the bobbing of his Adam's apple.

Then, as quickly as it had shown up, the moment disappeared. Mal stood up straight and, in his usual voice, finished: "I figure me and Zoe can get something going on the side. Night, Jayne."

***

It had been a long time since Jayne had done it with a guy. Hell, it had been a long time since he'd done it at all, so the day after Mal's little weight room visit, when they got to the bar on Midas (which, despite its name, was full of soy farms, not gold mines) Jayne didn't think twice when the prettiest thing offering was wearing breeches and a work shirt.

The guy, who called himself Matthew—not that Jayne really cared—looked kind of like the doc, if the doc had grown up on a soy farm and fought for every scrap he'd ever been thrown. He looked young, but when Jayne asked, the kid snapped,

"I'm twenty-two. Want to look at my implant?"

Jayne shook his head. The date-of-birth implants, tamper-proof ID chips that could be read with a handy device available in all brothels and most bars, had been introduced to try and stop underage prostitution on the more far-flung planets. It had been another brilliant Alliance plan. All it had done, Jayne knew, was to force the legal prostitutes who wanted to attract the more nervous clients to get the implants, and force the underage prostitutes, and the people exploiting them, further underground.

In any case, Matthew looked young, but not young enough for Jayne to be seriously worried. When they got upstairs, Matthew also made it eminently clear he'd been doing this for a long time.

Jayne had hopes of a morning quickie before he had to get back to the boat, so he'd paid for the entire night. That meant Matthew was still there, sprawled naked on his back and snoring softly, when there was a hammering on the door.

Jayne was awake in an instant, bolting up and reaching for Vera. Positioning her over his most vital asset, Jayne inched over to the door and flung it open, violently enough to smack Mal in the face.

"What the hell, Jayne?"

"What're you doin' here?"

"Things kinda…fell apart," Mal admitted. "We gotta leave a little early." He looked past Jayne into the room, where Matthew had woken and was watching them silently, the grubby sheet pulled up to his waist. Most of the captain's face was hidden behind his hand, but Jayne could see Mal's eyes harden. Tough shit, Jayne thought, going back over to pick up his pants. Just because Mal was a prude didn't mean the rest of them couldn't have a bit of fun when they could afford it.

"Get dressed," Mal snapped. "If you ain't onboard when we take off, we're leaving you here." He stalked off, but Jayne knew it was an empty threat. If Mal had wanted to leave him behind, he wouldn't have come up here. Unless he wanted Jayne to know he was deliberately abandoning him. Jayne shook his head, cursed orange plaid bosses, and glanced over his shoulder at Matthew. "I guess I'd better get goin'." He was sorry about it. Matthew was both talented and eager, everything you could ask for in a whore.

"Is the room paid up till morning?" Matthew asked.

"Yeah."

"Then have a good trip. Remember me next time you're in town." Matthew rolled over. He was asleep before Jayne had even put on his gun.

It was a couple of days before Jayne saw Mal to talk to. They passed each other in the halls, but Jayne had nothing interesting to say, and Mal had no job news to share, so they didn't speak, until Jayne went into the kitchen one afternoon and found Mal sitting with a cup of coffee.

Looking up, Mal wordlessly offered the pot to Jayne. Jayne shook his head.

"Damn stuff makes me jittery as hell. And I gotta piss like a racehorse after."

"You know, a simple 'no thank you' would be enough."

Jayne grunted and went to the cupboard. That was one of Mal's other annoying features. The man had grown up on a gorram ranch. Jayne had heard him swear fit to make a merc blush, but sometimes he acted worse than the preacher about that kind of stuff.

Jayne made his tea in silence, then went and sat at the other end of the table.

"How can you do it, Jayne?"

"What?" Jayne stiffened. He'd said he wasn't going to bring up the Ariel thing again, but it wouldn't be the first time the captain had gone back on his word.

"Whores. How can you live with yourself?"

"I can cook for myself, and I don't mind if I leave clothes on the floor."

Mal's eyebrows moved. "I can't see a fella like you having to pay for it. So why?"

Jayne shrugged, shifting uncomfortably. He didn't know who had bought the chairs for this ship, but it was clearly someone smaller than he was. "Easier. No strings."

"No dignity," Mal countered. "For either of you, but especially for the person taking your money. Do you think they want to debase themselves like that?"

"We all do plenty of stuff we don't want to. At least it's a job."

"No one ever aspires to that career."

"Inara…"

"Whorin' is whorin', Jayne. Don't matter what words you use to try and pretty it up."

Mal looked at him steadily. Jayne had never been stared down before. He looked back, until all of a sudden, he was hit with the same unidentified feeling he'd had when he smacked Mal with the door. Jayne ended up staring into his tea and pretending it was interesting.

"You're above it," Mal said finally. "Believe me, you could have anyone you want. You don't need to force it on folks who ain't got a choice."

Jayne could think of a lot of comebacks to that. They did have a choice, and Matthew, and Helen, and a few others he could name had been more than happy to choose him. If he could have anyone he wanted, then did that mean Mal was suggesting he go for Kaylee, or the doc, or, God forbid, River? Was Mal coming onto him himself?

But Jayne didn't say any of those things, and Mal got up and left, leaving his dirty cup in the sink.

***

"You did it."

Mal looked up. "What?" Mal sounded surprised, which was fine, because Jayne was pretty surprised himself. Jayne had been turning it over in his mind for a good long while now, more than a week, and he'd finally hit on the reason Mal was getting all worked up about other people's career choices.

"Whorin'." It was the only reason Jayne could think of for Mal to get his suspenders all knotted up about things. "You did it. Before the war."

"No." Mal frowned, and Jayne figured this had to be the way Kaylee felt when she couldn't get her hands on one of them fancy new tools she wanted.

Still looking at Jayne like he was something that'd popped out of a box, maybe naked and in the fetal position, Mal continued,

"My mother did."

"Your mother?" Jayne blinked in surprise. Mal didn't talk about his family much, but Jayne had heard his mother was a tough lady, like Jayne's own mother only with fewer children, a job on a ranch and no husband.

"Things weren't easy for anyone back then, 'specially a single woman with a kid. More years than not, we woulda been in trouble if she hadn't…supplemented her income a little."

"Shit, Mal. You ever see it?" Jayne tried to picture what he'd do if he saw someone using his mama like that. He'd have turned into a killer a hell of a lot earlier, that was one sure thing.

Mal shook his head, and Jayne wondered if maybe it was something he didn't want to talk about. But Mal talked anyway. "She kept it from me. I didn't find out until I was sixteen." He smiled a little, but not at Jayne. "She told me she did it to make sure I had a better life than her. So much for that, huh? Guess she shouldn't have troubled herself." He laughed, but not like he thought there was anything funny about it.

Jayne wasn't sure what to say, so he just said, "Yeah."

"So, you gonna shift them boxes in the cargo hold? Cause Kaylee was complainin' about not bein' able to find her toys, and I think the doc lost River in there for a while."

"Uh-huh." Jayne felt like there was something else he ought to say, but since he didn't know what it was, he headed for the cargo hold.

***

Jayne didn't look as Simon readied the hypodermic gun, although that didn't stop Simon from saying, chattily, "You know, for someone who's always complaining about my marksmanship, you certainly take advantage of it in this context."

"Shut up, doc. Fuck!" Jayne yelped as the doctor jabbed the gun into his arm, with unnecessary viciousness. "What happened to the gorram Hippocratic oath?"

"Doesn't apply if the patient's an ornery idiot."

"You use that bedside manner on your fancy medacad patients?"

"No." Simon withdrew the gun. "You're special. And you'll feel even more special once that dose kicks in."

Jayne was too tired to wonder if that was a come-on. He didn't care if it was. The way he was feeling, Jayne never wanted to have sex again. He just wanted to lie quietly, right there in the infirmary, until he died, preferably without the spectre of the captain looming over him and scowling.

Of course, Jayne had no such luck.

Mal finally spoke. "What the hell kind of stunt was that?"

Jayne groaned, eyes still closed. "Listen, Captain…"

"New orders, Jayne. The next time you feel the urge to help someone, shoot yourself in the head."

Jayne's eyes flew open. "You're the one always goin' on about duty and doin' the right thing. So I did that." And in this case, the "right thing" had been returning a kidnapped rich kid to her snotty parents instead of delivering her to the bottom-feeders who'd had big plans for her, none of which involved tea parties or glamorous masquerade balls—although Jayne was pretty sure balls figured in there somewhere.

"And nearly got yourself killed in the process."

"Thanks for saving me," Jayne offered.

Mal shrugged. "I hate doing job interviews."

Jayne's vision became suddenly blurry, and, as if from a distance, he could hear the doc's slurred voice talking about "Strong enough to drop a horse. No wonder it's taking a few minutes to work on him." Jayne didn't know what Simon was talking about, but one thing was very clear.

"You're wrong, you know." Jayne rolled his eyes up at Mal, who had stretched to approximately ten feet tall. Orange plaid guys could do that, Jayne guessed. Interesting.

"Uh, no, I really do hate interviewing," Ten-Foot Mal replied.

Jayne shook his head, and the room spun. "About the other thing."

"What thing would that be?"

"Bout your mama wastin' her time. You turned out good. She'd be real proud." Jayne wondered if he was smiling, because he was having difficulty feeling his facial muscles. He'd barely registered the look of surprise on Mal's face before he slid into darkness.

***

In the two weeks since the thing with the kidnapped rich girl, for which, Jayne couldn't help but notice, he'd gotten neither reward nor thanks, they'd been to four planets. Two of them had been the kind of place where the liquor was cheap and life was cheaper. Jayne could have had all sorts of fun, but every time he looked at a pretty woman or a good-looking man—or heaven help him, those twins in the leather bustiers—all he could see was Mal's poor mama, spreadin' 'em because she loved her son, and Jayne couldn't do a damn thing with any of them.

So instead, Jayne worked out. Hard. It was the way things were these days; if they couldn't find him anywhere else, the crew knew to look in the weight room, just like they knew to look for Zoe and Wash in their quarters—although not without knocking—for Simon in the infirmary, for Kaylee in the engine room and for Mal in Inara's shuttle.

As usual, Jayne was so wrapped up in the feel of his burning muscles and the sound of his own grunting he didn't notice Mal had entered until he sat on Jayne's thighs.

"Gorramit, Mal!" Jayne sat up, so shocked that he forgot about the two hundred and twenty pounds of metal immediately above his head. Which wasn't a good thing. He rammed his head hard against the steel bar.

"I guess we're even for that hotel room door, huh?" Mal asked, smiling down at him while Jayne used every curse word he knew, including the ones he'd picked up from that crazy guy he'd met in the work camp on Titan. The really choice expressions, though, only came out when the stars in his eyes cleared enough for Jayne to notice Mal was peeling off his suspenders.

"What in the name of a cattle-fucking son of a castrated mule do you think you're doin'?" Jayne tried to kick Mal off his legs, but Mal was no lightweight. Jayne couldn't budge him without doing him some serious damage, and he didn't want to do that. Yet.

"I've noticed how good you've been lately, and I think I know why." Mal reached down and pulled off his shirt, tossing it onto the floor beside Jayne's. "I appreciate that. Really."

"So say thanks and get the hell out of here." It didn't come out quite as gruffly as Jayne would have liked.

"See, that's why I'm the captain." Mal reached forward, and the first touch of his hands on Jayne's bare chest was nearly enough to start Jayne swearing again. "I think you deserve a little somethin' more."

"A bonus?"

Mal laughed out loud, something Jayne didn't hear much—not when Mal wasn't laughing at himself, anyway. "If that's what you want to call it." Mal's hand slid down, tracing through the sweat to the waistband of Jayne's pants.

"Mal." Jayne didn't know how he wanted to finish that thought, so he let it be.

"You deserve it, Jayne."

Hell, Jayne thought as Mal reached into his pants, maybe he did at that.

***

"We're going to have to clean this up." Mal was as efficient after sex as he was after a good job—and, Jayne noticed, he had the same smile on his face.

"Sure. Wouldn't want no one slippin' and crackin' their skull." Jayne picked up his sweat-soaked shirt and wiped off the weight bench. It kept him from having to look at Mal, anyway. Mal wasn't like any boss he'd ever had, and Jayne had never done anything like that with his other bosses. He didn't know what he ought to be feeling, but at the moment, embarrassment was winning out.

"Jayne."

"What?" Jayne half-turned, and, just like that, Mal kissed him.

Whores didn't kiss on the mouth, and that was shiny with Jayne. Not only did it cut out the "Goodnight Kiss" worries, but wherever tongue-on-tongue action went, strings were sure to follow. Jayne didn't do strings. After the whole Saffron mess, he'd have figured Mal wouldn't, either.

But this was a definite strings kiss. Mal closed his eyes and everything, and when he finally pulled away, Jayne had to admit, Mal's tongue wasn't the most disgusting thing he'd ever had in his mouth.

"Thank you, Jayne."

"For what?"

Mal just shrugged. "Next time you're in the mood, you know where to find me."

"I don't…"

Mal held up a hand to stop him. "Because I want to, Jayne." Then he winked, kissed Jayne quickly on the cheek, and left.

Jayne had worked for a lot of folks, and none of them was like Mal. And now, Jayne thought, as he balled up the T-shirt and headed for his bunk, he figured that maybe it wasn't so bad, working for an orange plaid guy.