Title: Give and Take Author: hisgoodgirl Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss. Character: Jayne Rating: G Setting: During “Our Mrs. Reynolds”

A/N: Cross-posted from my LiveJournal. Your comments are sincerely appreciated. Just click on my name to see more of my work. Hover for translation.

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

GIVE AND TAKE

Jayne Cobb sat on the edge of his bunk, his brows knotted in consternation. The stub of a well-gnawed cigar was clinched in one corner of his mouth and he stared blankly down at the decking, contemplating the strange situation that presently existed on board Serenity. Somehow, Mal had gone and gotten himself hitched back on that little moon they’d just left. The woman claiming to be his wife wasn’t bad looking, either, all curvy in the right places, pale milky skin and copper hair. The strange part was, Cap’n didn’t seem to want her, although the why of that eluded Jayne.

The big mercenary knew that customs and social conventions varied a lot across the rim. Hell, maybe Mal grew up believing pretty women didn’t make good wives. That might help explain why he hadn’t never acted on his feelings for ’Nara. Or maybe Mal’d bought into his own yu ben duh idea that crew shouldn’t oughtta be fraternizing.

When it came right down to it, Jayne wasn’t so much interested in the fraternizing part as in just getting his ashes hauled regular like and Mal’s ‘wife’ looked like she could do that and then some. That gal might seem all innocent, but Jayne figured he could help relieve her of the burden of that, given a little time.

On Serenity, folk traded around stuff all the time. If Inara got tired of some bauble, she’d pass it on to li’l Kaylee. Zoe gave him a few spare clips that fit his favorite sniper rifle, just ’cause she didn’t need ’em and knew they were hard to come by. The general philosophy seemed to be that everything is useful to somebody. If Mal didn’t want that little ‘wife’ he’d acquired, well ol’ Jayne was plenty happy to take her off his hands.

"How to work this thing?" he wondered. He’d worked for Mal long enough to know the man drove a hard bargain and figured that he’d better open his game with a substantial bid. Coin wouldn’t work, since the Cap’n was powerful opposed to the idea of treating folk like commodities. Jayne glanced around his bunk. Not much of value there to tell the truth, except his weapons. He sighed and flipped back the quilt that concealed his armory.

The collection of blades and guns hanging between the bulkheads was impressive by any standards. He had several hunting knives, a couple of swords, throwing knives and boot daggers. The captain didn’t seem to be overly fond of blades; in fact, Jayne wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Mal carry one. Firearms, on the other hand, had real potential. The merc studied the array of firearms racked up beside his bunk: revolvers, automatic pistols, a couple of shotguns, his hunting and sniper rifles. Trouble was, Mal had a lot of the same things, just maybe not as good and certainly not so many.

Then, almost apologetically, Jayne’s eye went to the biggest gun in his collection, the big Callahan full-bore autolock he called Vera. He tentatively stretched out his hand to caress the laminated wood of her rear stock. That was what Mal didn’t have: an assault gun. To be even more specific, the best gun made by man, in Jayne’s educated opinion. No way would the captain turn down an offer like that.

Feeling a bit traitorous, he lifted the big weapon down from the brackets that supported her and drew her into his lap. Vera was a gun to take note of -- that was for true and sure. Big, aggressive, capable of putting a substantial hole in most anything a man might wanna ventilate. With a look of deep reverence, he ran his hand over the magazine and up to caress the barrel and flash suppressor. Ai ya, she was fine. But so was that busty little redhead.

He had a good idea of what the gun might bring on the open market, a figure that was ten times more than the most expensive whore he’d ever hired. Still, he reasoned, this deal wasn’t for any one-night tussle. No, he’d be trading for all the trim a man might care to have and the woman easy on the eyes to boot. Vera might be handy in a firefight, but no way would she keep his bed warm at night. Looking at it that way somehow made the sacrifice he was about to make a little more bearable.

“Guess it’s time for you an’ me to part ways, ol’ girl,” he said, giving her a last fond pat. “Let’s us go find Mal. Got me some barterin’ to do.”

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

End