This was inspired by a piece of fanart I did, which you can find on FFF.net here. . . . “Are we there yet?” Jayne asks.

Mal grinds his teeth. “No.”

A half a minute passes.

“Are we there yet?”

“No.” It’s a mite more strident sounding this time.

Jayne’s long leg starts kicking the back of Mal’s seat, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk.

Hands curling into fists, Mal turns his head quickly. “Gorram it, stop that! What you playing at, Jayne?”

“Nothing, Mal.” A whine enters his voice. “Just bored is all. Woulda been okay ‘cept for someone wouldn’t let me bring no grenades to play with.”

Mal sputters. “Play … play!” He looks over to Zoe, who’s got that expression on her face of ‘about to laugh,’ and since it’s Zoe, that’s saying a lot. Jayne, however, just sits with arms crossed, pouting. Doesn’t mean Mal won’t try to get through to him, though he’s not sure there’s anything to get through to most days. “Grenades ain’t nothing to be playing with, besides –”

River leans forward and interrupts, voice high and distressed. “She is named River, and she shall be one!”

“What?” He’s gone all kinds of befuddled now.

Completely calmly: “I have to use the bathroom.”

He glances over his shoulder. “Gorram reader, and you couldn’t foresee you’d have to take a piss?”

She just scrunches her face at him as if he’s the stupidest thing to walk any world.

Sighing, he looks forward again. “There sure as hell ain’t gonna be no stealth happening if we stop in town to ask about using the facilities. Zoe, spot us a clump of bushes.”

“Bushes, sir?” She waves a hand out over the bare, grassy landscape, smile twitching the edges of her lips.

Mal sighs again and slams them to a quicker-than-normal halt, whipping everyone else forward in their seats as he braces against the steering grips. He feels a bit better when he hears Jayne grunt.

As River jumps down to run around the side of the mule, Jayne starts rummaging through its various hatches, mumbling, then hops down to check those lower down. “Gorram it!”

“What?” Mal stands and steps into the back of the mule to see what’s got the other man so riled, and something small and brown bounces off his face. He catches it on instinct, looking down to find an empty toilet paper roll in his hand. “Huh.”

“Rutting crazy’s gonna smell like piss we don’t find her something to wipe herself with.”

“Now, Jayne. I don’t want you anywhere near the parts of River you’d have to be sniffing to smell such as that.”

“Gotta tracker’s nose, Mal.” Jayne taps at it. “Real sensitive like.”

“Sir, if I might interrupt this highly disturbing conversation.”

“Please!”

“I’ve got a handkerchief here ain’t been used.” Zoe waves the piece of cloth.

“She wants it!” River’s voice rings out, high and edged with discomfort. “Grass … grass provides results that are less than optimal.”

As Zoe wads the white square into a ball and lobs it to River, she looks over to Mal, lips twitching.

Waving a hand in River’s direction, Mal makes a face.

And that’s all it takes. Zoe crumples in on herself, wheezing for air, shaking with it, and Mal can’t help but laugh his own self from seeing her.

He’s finally able to catch his breath, hand pressed to the stitch burning his side, and Zoe seems almost composed too, wiping her eyes and straightening. Then they both look up to find River and Jayne watching them with heads cocked at exactly the same angle, brows furrowed in twin puzzlement. One glance at each other, and Mal and Zoe lose it again. . . .