BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - GENERAL

HISGOODGIRL

That Which Shapes A Man 3/13
Sunday, January 7, 2007

Jayne returns to his home world for the funeral of his beloved younger brother. The solemn occasion forces him to confront early events that have shaped his life, in an effort to understand the true meaning of family and loyalty.


CATEGORY: FICTION    TIMES READ: 2134    RATING: 9    SERIES: FIREFLY

Title: That Which Shapes A Man

Chapter Title: The Bearer of Bad News

Author: hisgoodgirl

Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss. Just one woman’s take on the story. No money exchanged and all that. Characters: Jayne, Kaylee, crew ofc, omc – consider it my AU if you have issues with the pairing/timing Warning: PG-15 for strong language, violence. May be too intense for sensitive readers. Setting: Just prior to “Those Left behind”; also, twenty-six years previously. Word Count: 2,877. Chapter three of thirteen.

A/N: From the first time I watched Firefly, I wondered what circumstances might have shaped the character of Jayne Cobb, an exceptionally complex man. The given name “Jayne” was a common variant of “John” in Victorian England. This story emerged from the questions I asked.

Thanks to my excellent beta, ArtemisPrime, for making me dig deep, and to my dear friend Kristy Bartley, Ph.D., psychologist and therapist, who introduced me to the amazing work on intergenerational family dynamics done by Dr. Terrance Real and gave me insights into the forces that might have created the character we see.

Italics represent internal dialogue, emphasis, Chinese phrases.

To read the previous chapters, click on my name, above.

Questions, thoughts and comments are sincerely appreciated. Thanks!

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That Which Shapes A Man Chapter Three: The Bearer of Bad News

Kaylee settles herself cross-legged at the foot of Jayne’s bunk, grabs his hands and pulls him down beside her. The merc’s big body is half-turned, his back against the old pillows shoved against the headboard, one knee crooked towards the girl. His space is a curious mixture of mess and order, weapons carefully secured and ammo boxes neatly stacked, clothing and magazines flung willy-nilly.

He leans forward, brows knurled with concern, covers Kaylee’s grubby little hand with his big one and finds she’s trembling. One side of his mouth tenses in an expression of concern, lower lip pinched against the upper one. He hates uncertainty and something’s clearly wrong. Didn’t have to be no reader like Crazy to know that.

“What gives, ‘Kay?” Terse and direct.

The girl hesitates, clearly struggling with what to say, then focuses on the big man’s unflinching, steel-blue eyes. Not a man to ease into anything. Straight up, then. She takes a deep breath.

“I got some bad news, Jayne.” She pauses, gathers strength. “Your brother’s dead.”

Jayne stares uncomprehendingly at her for a minute, his mouth dropping softly open as if someone has suddenly unlatched it, inhaling suddenly with the force of the news. His brain lunges into overdrive.

No ruttin’ way Mattie’s dead…he was getting’ better. Ma wrote he was doin’ better. Can’t be dead – he was younger’n me. Little brothers ain’t supposed to die. Must be some mistake or somethin’…

The gentle caress of Kaylee’s hand on his brings him abruptly back to the present.

“I’m so sorry… Wash got a wave from your sister Rachel earlier this afternoon.” She withdraws the crumpled note from her pocket and tentatively holds it out to him.

“No! It’s wrong. He ain’t…” Jayne’s deep voice is sharp, harsh.

Kaylee sits motionlessly, holding out the note, studying the shock and anger and anguish washing over his face, the silence between the two of them raw and thick.

The merc glances up at her, half expecting her to tell him she’s made the news up out of spite, but the tears that trickle down her cheeks gave lie to that.

“No…you got it wrong. He can’t…”

A long pause and Jayne’s voice falls to a raspy whisper. “Mattie’s dead?”

His face, as he looks up at Kaylee, is utterly bewildered, dark brows knotted in confusion. The corner of his mouth quivers ever so slightly as he takes the paper from her hand and stares at the message Wash had copied. It is as if his brain can’t absorb the information, or, perhaps, if he stares hard enough, the painful words will somehow morph into others more benign. “Ruttin’ hell!” he roars, lurching upright, pounding the steel bulkhead with his fist over and over. “Damn! Damn! Damn!”

His whole body shudders with the great raw breaths he draws. The bulkhead and deck are splattered with bright blood from his battered knuckles. For the moment, the physical pain silences the agony within him, and he leans his forearm against the cold steel, rests his head against it, struggling not to weep.

Kaylee’s never seen him like this, so utterly shattered, his façade of bravado undone by grief. She rises, gently lays her hand on his shoulder, feeling the massive muscles under his shirt trembling.

“Oh… Jayne.” Her voice is ever so soft, more breath than words. “Sit back down and let me get somethin’ for yer hand.”

He numbly lets her lead him back over to his bunk where he lies back against the pillows, staring off into space.

The mechanic grabs a clean towel from his locker and dampens it in warm water at the wall lav, then perches on the edge of the narrow bunk beside his thigh. She can see his blood throbbing in the great veins that course along his forearm, in others now prominent on his forehead and neck. She slips her left hand under his right and carefully blots the clotting blood from his knuckles, trying to see whether he needs stitching.

Satisfied the wounds are superficial, she asks hesitantly, “You want me to leave ya alone?”

“No.” More silence.

“Want me to curl up with ya?”

Almost like a sigh, “Yeah…”

He shifts his bulk sideways and she fits herself against him, her head on his shoulder and her arm thrown round his chest. They lay together for some time, Kaylee softly stroking the big man as one might calm a troubled child.

Finally, after some time she ventures to ask, ‘Whatcha thinkin’?”

“Ah… just rememberin’ things we done together. He was a good brother…”

She pushes herself up to a sitting position and nods solemnly.

“I’m sorry I never got to meet him, Jayne.”

With just her fingertips, she tenderly caresses his cheek. “You probably ain’t gonna wanna join the others for supper. How ‘bout I fix a plate and somethin’ to drink an’ bring it back down here?”

“Don’t much wanna eat.” He thinks for a minute. “Maybe somethin’ to drink, ‘though. Whisky, if you can find any.”

* * *

When Kaylee gets to the galley, the common space is empty. A dented old stockpot bubbles fragrantly on the heater, simmering in preparation for the evening meal. The little mechanic glances both ways and finds no one in sight. Guiltily, she reaches up to Mal’s personal food locker and quickly taps in the code, then retrieves a half-full bottle of whisky.

With the purloined bottle held close against her overall-clad torso, she silently slips back down to Jayne’s bunk. The merc sits as she left him, his eyes hooded and his gaze far away.

“Here.” Kaylee proffers the bottle.

Jayne’s eyes focus and he looks at what she holds out to him. “Hey, ain’t that Mal’s booze?”

“Yup. He won’t miss it and I’ll buy him some more. I figured you need it right now a sight more’n he does.” She sits down on the edge of the bunk and watches as Jayne opens the bottle and takes a long swig.

He looks at her with puzzled, pain-filled eyes. “How in the ruttin’ ‘Verse did you get this gorram stuff? I know he locks it up.”

Kaylee wiggles the fingers of her right hand at him. “I know his code. Hell, I know everybody’s code. The codes to all the bunks, too. Just don’t generally got a reason to use ‘em.”

“Huh.” Jayne takes another swig.

When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse and strained. “My sister says the funeral’s Sunday afternoon. We ain’t all that far from Sunderland. I know we got a delivery to make to Newhall but…maybe Cap’n’ll let me take the spare shuttle.”

Kaylee smiles bravely. “Can’t hurt to ask him. You want me to send Shepherd down to talk with ya?” she asks, hoping to find some way to comfort this enigma she loves.

“Not now.” The set of his jaw is hard, his words, clipped. “Maybe later.”

Her rosy face is filled with love and concern for him, and he thinks, I’m so gorram lucky to have her in my life.

The merc points his head toward the ladder and softly squeezes Kaylee’s knee with his battered hand. “I’ll let ya know. You go on up to supper, now, gal.” He tips the bottle to his lips. “Guess I just want to be alone for a while now.”

* * *

Long before…

Jayne requires several days of recovery from his father’s beating before he can return to the ironworks. Jedd acts as if absolutely nothing untoward happened the previous Friday night, and pointedly ignores the youth’s black eye and swollen jaw. For his part, Jayne speaks no more than absolutely necessary and keeps his head down, moving stiffly and breathing shallowly to minimize the grating ache of his cracked ribs.

During breaks in patchwork, Jedd shows his son the fundamentals of welding. “No, boy, do it like this!” he barks, adjusting the mix of gas and oxygen for a smoother flame. The brilliant glare of the torch makes Jayne’s head ache, but he’s damned if his old man is gonna see he’s hurting. He lowers the welders’ shield over his face and bends to his practice work, determined to master the process. Within him, anger burns as brightly as the hissing welder’s torch he holds.

On Friday, Pete, the shift foreman, stops back by Jedd’s work station to take a look at Jayne’s progress and nods a greeting at the boy. Pete’s noticed the youth’s absences and the yellowing bruises that still blotch his face. Rotten shame to beat a kid like that, he thinks. Boy’s got talent, too. Jedd Cobb ain’t been right since that scaffold collapsed under him, five years back. Bad enough his hands ain’t steady and his eyes are off, but the way the man’s drinkin’ sure isn’t helpin’ none, either.

If the boy gets good enough, I’ll promote him and maybe the extra wages will help out at home, Pete decides as he walks away.

* * *

About five months after Jayne begins welding in between runs of cutting up scrap and helping his father with patch work, Pete Collins stops by Jedd’s work station during his usual weekly rounds. He stands quietly, arms folded, watching as the sturdy youth braces two steel panels and flips down his face-shield. With the scrape of the striker, the torch ignites with a sharp pop and Jayne bends to his work, the glowing, silvery fillet of the weld running out smoothly as he draws the flame and welding rod down the joint.

Noticing his boss, Jedd turns off his own torch and walks over to stand beside Collins, watching Jayne complete the weld. The older Cobb points a sooty forefinger toward his son. “Got a ways to go, ain’t he?”

“Actually,“ the shift boss remarks, “I think he’s damn good. Boy’s definitely got the knack.”

Jedd snorts and stiffens up.

Collins waits until the youth finishes welding the joint, then steps over to Jayne and waits for the boy to notice him. Jayne turns off the hissing torch and raises his visor. “Yes, sir?” At fifteen, he stands half a head taller than his boss man and already carries substantial muscle on his large frame. His voice has settled into a resonant baritone and the planes of his face are noticeably more mature.

“Nice job, kid. You’ve come a long way and I think it’s time to start paying you your own independent wage. You can collect your pay packet from the bursar on Friday with the rest of the men.”

Jayne’s stunned. “Well, thank ya, Mr. Collins!” The praise is welcome, but his own pay, even more so.

Neither Jayne nor his boss notice the murderous glare Jedd Cobb directs their way.

* * *

Most of the time, it’s late when Jedd makes his way home from the bars. On some occasions he’s so drunk it’s all he can do to stagger into the house and fall into bed, often without bothering to undress. On other nights, when his consumption has been limited by lack of coin or the distraction offered by a game of poker, he comes in ready for a fight.

On Friday nights, Jayne lies awake in the darkness, listening to the soft, sleepy sounds of his siblings, awaiting his father’s return. He can tell from the old man’s footsteps as he comes up the alley what sort of night it is, and he dreads the nights when Jedd’s steps are brisk and angry.

Annalee moves about in the kitchen, humming the melody of a favorite hymn as she washes up the supper dishes and puts them away. She’d been so proud of him when he told her about the shift boss’s praise. It felt good to know he’d finally be providing for his family like a man and that Jedd wouldn’t be drinking up the wages he’d be earning.

Jayne soon realizes his Pa is not at all pleased by the change.

The quiet autumn evening is shattered by the sound of Jedd’s boots tromping across the back porch. The back door banged open, rattling windows throughout the little house and Jedd Cobb roars out, “Git yer ass outta bed, boy.”

“Jedd, no, not again. Please.” Jayne can hear the fear in his mother’s voice as she tries to diffuse her husband’s fury. “He’s yer son, too, for pity sake. Please just leave him be.”

The youth quickly climbs out of bed and crosses the room, bracing the door with his shoulder, his forehead resting against the coolness of the wood as he struggles with what to do. There is scuffling. His heart is races as he wonders what will happen this time. Then the sharp smack of a blow, and Annalee began to sob.

Jayne yanks the bedroom door open, sees blood trickled from his mother’s lip and Jedd’s fist drawn back for a second punch. With Jedd distracted, Annalee scrambles to where her younger children huddle in the bedroom doorway, and quickly draws them close.

“Stop hittin’ her, you bèn de hún dàn!” Jayne challenges. “I’m the one yer pissed at!”

The drunken man turns at the sound of his son’s voice and the look in Jedd’s bloodshot eyes makes it clear that his mind is set on murder. “A’right, ya li’l prick.” Jedd smiles nastily and steps toward his son, drawing his fists up before him. ”Think yer man enough to earn yer own way, now?” He takes a swing that Jayne dodges, circles and draws back for another punch.

“Show me what yer made of, ya li’l piece a shit.” The room is brittle, silent but for Jedd’s noisy breathing.

The muscular fifteen-year old stands eye to steely eye with his old man, balancing lightly on his feet, and brings his fisted hands up to guard himself. He studies his father’s movements and shifts, seeking an opening.

Jedd lashes out again, clipping the side of Jayne’s head and Liza shrieks in terror. In that moment, Jayne sees his opening and nails his father with a sharp right jab, a punch so sure and swift that it snaps Jedd’s head back hard and sends him keeling to the floor.

Jayne’s panting and shaken, can see the old man’s out cold, but for how long?

“Sweet Jesus in Heaven,” Annalee sobs, “Jayne, are you alright?”

He rubs stinging, bloody knuckles, breathing hard. “I’ll be fine, Ma. How ‘bout you?”

Annalee blots her lip with her apron, grasps Jayne’s wrist. “Listen up, son. It ain’t safe fer you to be around when yer Pa comes to. He’s just being crazy, Jayne.” She shakes her head in dismay. “Best you not plan on goin’ back to the plant. After this, no tellin’ what he’ll do.”

“All the more reason I oughtta stay, Ma, and you need the money.” Jayne is emphatic. “What if he turns on you?”

“I can deal with him, Jayne, and it ain’t like I been gettin’ much a what you been earnin’ anyways.” Annalee wants to reassure the youth. “You’re the one he’s angry with, although God knows, he should be proud of ya. He’s just jealous, son. Jealous of your skill and resentful he’s lost his own.”

Staring at his father’s unconscious form, Jayne mutters, “One thing’s fer sure, if I stay, he’s gonna wind up killin’ one of us, or I’ll wind up killin’ him.”

Nodding her head sadly, Annalee agrees tremulously. ‘I’m a’feared yer right, son. I want you to go to your cousin Jared’s awhile. Hurry, now, get some things together.”

She quickly finds and hands him a pillowcase, pointing him toward his room, herds the other children back to bed. “Go on, now, lie back down. Your brother’ll just be gone a little while, so’s yer Pa can cool off some.”

Jayne dresses quickly and rummages through his belongings, stuffing clothes, his knife and razor into the cloth sack.

Knees up and covers pulled around his chin, Mattie coughs and gazes at him, wide-eyed, from the bed. “Don’t go, Jayne…”

“Sorry, squirt, I gotta. Won’t be fer long. You can play my guitar while I’m gone, okay?” He hugs Mattie and his sisters. “Now y’all take care a Ma, okay? She needs ya.” Three small, solemn faces bob up and down.

He emerges from his room and grabs up his worn green coat and hat. Jedd is still unconscious on the floor.

Annalee guides her first-born to the door, dabs her streaming eyes.

“Promise you’ll be careful and let me know once you’re settled with Jared. I was gonna give this to ya for your birthday next month, but…” She wraps a long, navy blue knitted scarf around the tall youth’s neck and tucks a small handful of cash in his pocket. “I been puttin’ a little by now and then, and figure it’ll help you out. I love you, son.”

“Thanks Ma – I love you, too. I’ll still get money back to ya. An’ please don’t let Pa hurt ya.”

Annalee smiles bravely. “You be careful now.”

Bending low, Jayne embraces his mother, then pushes out into the chill, foggy night. The world is suddenly very big.

*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*

Chapter three of thirteen

COMMENTS

Sunday, January 7, 2007 7:01 AM

QWERTY


Yet more excellence, HGG! I can't express enough how much I'm enjoying this series.

Monday, January 8, 2007 2:18 PM

BLUEEYEDBRIGADIER


Oh...this was mighty brilliant writing, HGG! Definitely love the balance between showing "now" Jayne and his relationship with Kaylee and "then" Jayne and his relationship with Annalee...especially when Mattie gets factored into both relationships:)

Gotta wonder though if Annalee's decision to send Jayne to his cousin's isn't what starts him down his path as
'Verse reknowned mercenary and ladies' man...

BEB

Tuesday, January 9, 2007 3:33 AM

HISGOODGIRL


Hmmm, BEB, just like Jayne, Annalee's making the best choices she can, and with no crystal ball to know what may result...


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