Betsey was clean. So was Maeve. And little Ida was just gleaming at him. Now all he had to do was give Vera the same, tender, loving care as his other guns and he’d be done.

Picking up the Callahan, Jayne started to break her down, his hands doing what they always did, while his brain began to wander.

This, too, was normal.

Sometimes he thought about his brother Matty and his wife Jolene, wondered how they were getting on with their newest addition to the family. They’d be dropping by in a few weeks, so at least that would be good. That generally brought up memories of his Ma, how she’d approved of River, then of the day they laid her to rest next to his Pa. Usually he’d rub a bit harder at whatever bit he was cleaning, maybe blinking once or twice to get the dust out of his eyes.

Other times his mind went to his own son, his Caleb, growing every day, nurtured by River. There were still episodes, of course, but she generally knew when they were coming, and allowed Simon to give her something to make them easier to take. It would be good to have another kid, he always mused, a playmate for his son, but if it didn’t happen he wasn’t going to grieve over it. There were enough younglings on Serenity as it was to get into trouble if they wanted. With young Bethie leading the way, of course.

Mostly, though, he thought about how. How he’d managed to wind up on a ship like this old Firefly, when he’d been offered cushier berths. Well, no, maybe not at the time he had Mal and Zoe at the end of his gun, but … Anyway, something had always gone wrong. Either he didn’t like the rest of the crew, or they didn’t like him, or more often both of the above, but he’d never stayed in one place for long. Least, not after Charity.

Charity. Damn fine woman. If she hadn’t been killed there was a tiny part of him considered they’d probably still be together, taking on the ‘verse, squeezing its balls and making it squeak. And there’d always be a part of him, maybe a bit bigger, that would always love her. River didn’t mind – she understood, welcomed, encouraged him to talk about her, which he did sometimes, when he’d had a skinful and his tongue loosened enough. But only to her. Nobody else. Charity was … special.

He always closed his eyes and said a prayer for her, that wherever she was she’d found some peace. And someone to fight. And sex.

Still, after that he’d wandered, angrier and more on his own than ever, taking any job that was presented, no matter how bad or violent. Until that day when Marco took it into his head to try and get the goods out of a certain Firefly captain, and he’d changed sides. Wasn’t the first time, and almost wasn’t the last but …

She did it. Always and forever his thoughts turned to her, that slip of a woman who’d tied his heart in knots and promised never to undo them. Sometimes, in the night, he’d lie awake watching her, just marvelling at how an old hwoon dahn like himself had ended up with her, and just how he was going to have to pay for the privilege in a future life. Not that he cared – if he ended up deaf, dumb, blind, no legs to carry him, no arms to hold a gun, he didn’t care, just so long as he had her now.

Fitting the stock onto Vera, he looked up.

“Jayne.” River smiled at him, her hair loose about her shoulders.

“Moonbrain.”

She held out her brush. “My turn,” she said softly.

“You think?”

“I know.”

“Caleb?”

“In with Bethie. She’s reading to him.”

“Somethin’ unsuitable, I'm guessing.”

“Very.” She smiled, and it was as if all the lights in the ‘verse came on at once, bathing him in her glory.

“You got knots?” he asked.

“Always.”

“You know we won’t get far, don’t you?”

“Then you can brush my hair again after.”

He sat back, patting his lap. “Here okay?”

“For now.” She moved silently, turning so she could lower herself onto his legs. She handed the brush to him over her shoulder. “Be gentle.”

“When ain't I, Riv?”

“When I ask.”

He growled a laugh, and felt her shiver in response. Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear. “You know I love you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she murmured back, lighting fires in him that would never be extinguished. “My Jayne.”

To hell with the kitchen. In a moment he had stood, and somehow she’d wrapped herself around him. “You sure about Caleb?”

“For hours.” She buried her face in his neck, and he could tell she was breathing in his scent.

“Good. ‘Cause what I got in mind’s gonna take that long.”

She laughed, her breath tickling his skin, and he grinned.

“What about the girls?” she asked, her tongue darting from between her lips and tasting him.

“Mal can shout at me later.” He strode out of the kitchen, his wife secure in his arms, heading for their shuttle.

Just as they reached the doorway, he heard someone bellowing.

“Jayne? What the good gorram are you doing leavin’ your guns all over the place?”

He ignored his captain. He considered he had much better things to do, and carried River inside.