Chapter Text
Disclaimer : Firefly is the property of Joss Whedon and Twentieth Century Fox. I am not making any profit from writing fan fiction about it - just wasting a lot of my time.
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The first time he'd thought of touching her, he'd imagined wrapping one hand around that skinny throat and squeezing the life out of her.
The first time he had touched her, he'd backhanded her to the floor, after she'd cut him in the mess.
The second time had been on Ariel, when he'd wrapped his arm around her to keep her in her chair, while the doc had saved some lucky bastard's life. When the doc had returned to their side after the life saving episode, and he'd released her, she'd looked up at him with those big brown eyes and smiled.
And then, the third time in the imaging room, when she'd suddenly opened her eyes and screamed.
Third time lucky.
When he'd put his hand over her mouth, he'd covered damn near half of her face with his big paw. His hand had flexed, feeling her there, breathing against it. He'd felt guilty for the first time in his adult life.
Now, of course, back on the boat, out in the black, he had no use for her. Especially since he knew she knew what he'd done. He'd be happy never to see her again. Still. Every time he did see her, he felt her breath against the palm of his hand. It was unnerving. And he saw her everywhere.
She floated around Serenity like a ghost, everywhere and nowhere, all the time. At communal meals, she often sat next to him, eating off his plate as often as not. He said nothing and let it continue. When he worked out, he sensed her eyes on him. Sometimes he was able to find her lurking in some shadow overhead, sometimes not. When he walked the corridors of the ship, as all of them sometimes did, he usually managed to run across her. He did his best to just step around her and keep moving. This time was different.
As he stepped around her on the catwalk that ran over the top of Serenity's main holding bay, she put out her hand and caught him on the shin. He froze in mid-step. Then he pulled his leg out of her weak grasp, and made to walk on, ignoring her as best he could.
Her voice pulled him back. "You'll never do it," she said in that whispery voice she had.
He turned back to her and looked down at the crown of her head where she sat on the edge of the catwalk, her legs dangling.
"What?" he asked, gruffly.
"Never do it, I said," she repeated.
"Never do what?"
"Never forget what you did." She looked up at him. "It won't let you."
He shook his head. "You're crazy," he said. "And we got nothin' to talk about." He made as if to continue his walk, and then hesitated.
She arched an eyebrow at him and smiled that knowing smile.
"What?" he demanded, frustrated.
She stared down into the darkened bay, her mona lisa smile fading. "Go on," she said. "I can still be invisible if that's what you want."
He rolled his eyes and stomped away, muttering.
Later, in his bunk, he re-lived the short conversation with her, unconsciously rubbing his palm as if it itched. He still felt her there, breathing.
What the hell was that crazy brat trying to say to him, he wondered. Why wouldn't she just leave him alone?
He felt the urge to go down into the bay and work out, but hesitated, knowing she would probably be there. Then he checked his chrono, and smiled to himself. Actually, now would be the best time, while everyone slept. Far as he could tell, that brother of hers kept her doped to the gills at night, probably to keep her from wandering around the ship and crashing them into some random planet.
So, down he went. At some point between the countless reps, he sat up on the bench and took a look around. Seeing no one, he pulled his shirt off and continued. The mostly-healed mark across his chest stung a bit, his sweat running into it, and he rubbed that itchy hand across it, feeling his muscles flex.
"Yeah," he thought. "this is what I am. Just this. The muscle." And the thought bolstered him. He wasn't required to think at all beyond his own survival. Thinking wasn't his strong suit, and he knew it. That was Mal and Zoe's job. He was the muscle.
Endorphins poured though him, bringing him the rush and the comfort that he craved. His plan for the night was simple. Tire himself out, wander down to the mess for a bite to eat, then head to his bunk for a shot of whiskey and a good night's sleep.
At least, that was the plan.
Eventually, he shelved the free weights and sat up on the bench, panting heavily - only to find her standing there in the half-dark at his feet. Just standing.
He nearly came out of his skin.
"Gorramit, girl!" he snarled. "What the hell are you doin' down here in the middle of the night?"
When she said nothing, just stood there in her white shift, he growled wordlessly, then snatched up his shirt from the floor and stalked past her, headed directly for his bunk. Damned if he could go down to the mess now, he thought, irritated.
Five steps away, he heard her thready voice in the gloom. "The tattle you told doesn't hurt us, you know," she said conversationally.
He stopped in his tracks, shirt clenched in his hand as tightly as the muscles in his back. In his other hand, he felt her breath against his palm. He heard her as she crept up behind him, her bare feet nearly but not quite silent on the metal floor.
Then: "Children get excited sometimes," she said, "and then they tell secrets. But it's not important, you should realize that."
Jayne ground his teeth together, and turned back to find her nearer than he'd anticipated. The words jumped from his mouth unbidden. "It wasn't right," he said rustily. "What I did." His hand tightened around the phantom of her breath. "I can't go back and change it."
"I'm not here to discuss quantum mechanics," she replied, in one of those eerie moments of seeming lucidity.
His eyes narrowed, staring down at her. "Then what do you want?" he asked, tired of her riddles.
River stared up into his ice blue eyes, her own eyes glassy, her pupils huge in the gloom. "Forgiveness," she whispered. "For you, from you."
He was stumped, as usual.
"Forgiveness?" He shook his head in frustration. "Look," he said, "why don't you just leave me alone? Huh?"
She continued to stare up at him for a moment, her eyes wide. Then she took on a more feral look, her eye jaw squaring, her eyes narrowing. "Stop screaming at me, then," she answered him challengingly. "Your voice is deafening me!"
"Me?" he finally yelled. "I ain't never raised my voice to you, EVER!"
River covered her ears with her hands, then sank abruptly to her knees. "You're burning me up from the inside!" she cried.
And suddenly, like the proverbial light bulb going on over his head, Jayne understood her. Forgiveness, she'd said. From you, for you...
She was feeling his guilt, the gut-churning shame he felt over turning the two of them in to the Feds. It creeped him out, but it sent a streak of pity through him too. Imagine not being able to filter out... anything.
He shifted from foot to foot, staring down at her crouching at his feet in the near darkness, her whimpering drilling into him like bullets. He felt helpless, as he rarely did. Usually, when a problem presented itself, he either shot it or walked away.
Without forethought, he leaned over her and patted her shoulder awkwardly. "C'mon, now," he said gruffly. "It ain't all that bad... Stop cryin', now..."
When she didn't respond, he knelt next to her, his hand still on her shoulder.
"River," he said, then stopped. It occurred to him that he had never said her name, had never thought of her by it - had tried like hell not to let her have one in his mind. Having a name made you a person - and he didn't want her to be one. He just wanted her to be a problem, to be shot or walked away from. And now she wasn't.
He sighed.
She turned her tear-glazed eyes up to his, and the confusion in them only made him feel worse. She didn't know any more about her state of mind than he did, he realized.
His hand tightened slightly on her shoulder. "C'mon, then," he said, meaning to help her to her feet and take her to her brother, who could surely help her.
Instead, she launched herself at him, and he found himself abruptly at the center of the storm, her cheek pressed against his bare chest, over the mostly healed wound there. And now it's stinging was caused by tears instead of sweat.
He patted her back awkwardly. "Uhh...there, there," he muttered uncomfortably, looking around by force of habit to see if anyone was watching from the shadows. That's exactly what I need, he thought. To be caught down here with my hands on this girl, and half naked to boot. Mal would have his balls for breakfast if he didn't get out of here.
His eyes scanned the shadows again.
"Please," she sobbed against him, "please don't let them take me back there -"
Jayne grimaced, anger roughening his voice. "Look," he said. "I ain't gonna do that." He stared down at her, his hands wrapped around her upper arms. "It was stupid, and even I know it, and it ain't never gonna happen again."
Her eyes met his. "They hurt me there," she said quietly, and for the first time, Jayne understood what she meant. What they had all implied, but no one had actually said, and what he had avoided thinking about because it wasn't his problem. "They" whoever they were, had tortured this little girl. They had done... things... to her.
"They put needles in my eyes," she said then (she's reading my mind, he thought), "and sucked out pieces of my brain."
Jayne ground his teeth. "Wuh de ma," he said. "They put needles in your eyes?"
She blinked, saying nothing, and Jayne suddenly knew something else about little River Tam. You might not be able to understand most of what came out of her mouth, but just because you couldn't understand it didn't mean it was nonsense. She wasn't lying.
"Come on," he said after a moment, standing up and pulling her along. "I'll take you back to the doc and he'll know what to do."
"No," she said, pleadingly. "He sticks needles in me, too. I hate it."
Jayne sighed again, looking down at her. "Well - what do ya want me to do, then?" he asked belligerently.
She smiled up at him, the same smile she'd bounced off him on Ariel. "Let's eat apples," she said.
Despite himself, he couldn't retain his own reluctant half-smile. Relieved that she was no longer crying, he bent and picked his discarded shirt up from the floor.
"Alright," he said. "Let's go eat apples. Then you're goin' to bed, dong ma?"
She smiled happily, her pain momentarily forgotten, and they made their way to the mess as he pulled his shirt over his head.
.Apples. If the bible was to be believed, they represented sin itself.
Of course, this didn't cross Jayne's mind, not on any conscious level - but the sight of her white teeth breaking the firm red fruit seemed somehow sinful. Especially when she smiled and licked her lips, for all the world like a cat in the cream jar.
He remembered the first time he had seen her - naked, terrifed, completely scrambled. Though he'd never admit to it, not even on pain of death, he'd felt a stab of pity for her that day, too, even though he'd quickly brushed it aside.
He remembered what he'd said to the lawman when he'd described her. "It's a girl - a cute one, too... I don't think she's all there, though. Course, not all of her has to be, if you get my drift?"
He wondered if she knew he'd said that about her, if she might not even know what he was thinking right now. The thought of it made him nervous, though she seemed uninterested in anything but the apples right now.
The apples... They were his pledge to Mal that he would never betray anyone on this crew again. And somehow, he reflected, they were a part of the crew now. Even her.
The way she had huddled against him earlier had made him acutely uncomfortable. He didn't have any experience in comforting or being comforted - his had been a hard life, and it had made him strong and callous, in equal proportions. Still... something about it had appealed to him. As the kind of man who had only ever had dealings with whores and hard working women like Zoe, never once in his life had a woman turned to him for comfort or protection. It had made him feel... strong.
He remembered the day he had run through the corridors of the ship with a wounded Kaylee in his arms, and he'd heard her mutter, "Damn, you're strong," under her breath. He'd had a moment of pride then. He was strong. But that was a different kind of strength. He wondered if feeling like he did right now when a girl acted like she needed him made him a different kind of man than he'd always thought he was.
Without looking up from the joyous contemplation of her half-eaten apple, River spoke. "Man of instinct," she said matter-of-factly.
A stab of fear shot through Jayne. "You readin' my mind?" he asked harshly.
River frowned, then placed the remains of her apple carefully on the table before her. "The mind is not a book," she said slowly. "The mind is a diamond, throwing thoughts like rays of light. Some facets shine more brightly, bright enough to blind or burn. Thought moves through the diamond at the speed of light, and even though I try to look away, some sparks fall on me anyway..."
Fixated on River, trying to figure out her words, Jayne completely missed the arrival of Simon. When Simon entered the mess, Jayne jumped, hand grasping for knife before thought.
::man of instinct::
"River!" Simon exclaimed softly, coming quickly to his sister's side, nearly ignoring Jayne. "River, what are you doing down here?"
Simon glanced suspiciously at Jayne.
"We was just havin' some apples," Jayne said sullenly. "She wasn't doin' nuthin' wrong."
Tugging gently on her arm, Simon said, "Let's go back to our rooms, River, and I'll give you a smoother to help you sleep."
Jayne couldn't help it, the doctor just irritated him. "Hey, doc," he said, "it ever occur to you that keepin' her drugged ain't solvin' the problem?"
Simon glanced at him disparagingly. "Don't presume to think you have any idea what you're talking about," he said. "I am a doctor and River is -"
"She's a girl, not a gorram doll, I know that," snarled Jayne. "And bein' a doctor don't make you god." Jayne stood up to intimidate the slighter Simon. "Maybe if you give'er a chance, she might sort it out on her own," he growled.
Suddenly, River was excited. "Simon!" she exclaimed. "The mind! The mind is like a diamond, thoughts moving through like light!" She smiled proudly.
"Yes, River," he responded calmingly. "Let's leave Jayne alone now." He continued to tug gently on her arm.
"Gorramit, doc!" Jayne suddenly snapped. "Would ya just lissen to her for a minute? She's tryin' to tell ya how she reads minds!"
Simon froze, then turned to look at Jayne full-on. "What in your tiny, simian mind makes you think you have any idea at all what's going on in my sister's head?" he growled, and for the first time, Jayne saw something truly fierce in the boy as Simon faced him, fists clenched.
Jayne looked into his eyes assessingly, blue eyes clashing with blue. Simon's courage fostered a grudging respect in Jayne.
"Just lissen to her before ya drug her, stupid," he said softly. "She told me somethin' like - The mind ain't a book, but it's like a diamond and thoughts is like lights flashin' out... or somethin' like that." Jayne cursed his own inability to articulate anything. Talkin' wasn't his strong point, it was too related to thinkin'.
Simon turned incredulous eyes to River. "Is this what you and Jayne were talking about, River?" he asked her in that soft voice he reserved for her and her alone.
River stood, picking up her half-eaten apple. "Yes, Simon," she said. "And Jayne said, They put needles in your eyes? And I said, Yes and he said It ain't never gonna happen again."
Jayne felt himself flush, remembering the conversation in the cargo bay, and prayed like hell she wouldn't say how she'd leaned up against him and cried. And how he'd let her do it.
Simon looked from River to Jayne and back again, his eyes blank. Then - "Don't talk like that, River," was all he said. "Let's go back to our rooms."
River looked at Simon, then at Jayne on the other side of the table. "Finish my sin," she said to him, handing him the half eaten apple.
Jayne just nodded as the two of them turned away and left the mess.
Then he looked down at the half-eaten apple in his hand. In four bites, he ate it, core and all, waste not being something he could tolerate. But as he finished it, he wondered what she meant when she called the apple 'sin'.
He shrugged. Maybe he'd ask her, later, when he ran across her in the catwalks.
He smirked. If nothin' else, talkin' to her would piss off the doctor, and that was always good for a laugh.