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Jayne Cobb was smarter than most people gave him credit for. Come to think of it, he was more anything than most people gave him credit for. Except strong. Turns out, he wasn’t as strong as he, or they, had always thought. Always thought, that is, until Miranda.
Everything had changed since Miranda.
Jayne had seen things he had never thought he’d see. Things he had never wanted to see. He still carried images of River, shin-deep in Reavers and covered in blood as she stared down an Alliance contingent. He had seen a funeral, three good men gone forever. He had seen Zoe develop a different kind of strength. She seemed to have at least accepted Wash’s death. He knew that she still mourned, but it was a different kind of mourning. One that rose above weeping and wailing and wishing for something different. There was a peace around her he hadn’t seen in a long time. That was strength, too. Whereas Jayne… the hero of Canton, thug, mercenary, walking armory, bare-knuckle brawler… Jayne couldn’t get rid of one gorram dream.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t had the dream before. But since Miranda, it had gotten progressively worse, until Jayne dreaded sleeping as much as he dreaded being the only one awake in the silent, sleep-heavy Firefly.
He wandered silently through the corridors and rooms of Serenity, his feet making no noise on the steel of the floors. Walking through the galley, he trailed his fingers along the table, feeling the rough-hewn planks that held so many memories. Sensing a presence behind him, he spoke without turning.
“Ain’t you supposed to be asleep?”
River padded down the remaining stairs into the room. “Overrated,” she said. “I’ve done enough sleeping for a lifetime. I’d rather be awake.” She looked at Jayne, narrowing her eyes. “You shouldn’t be afraid, you know. Nothing to be afraid of. Just neurons firing during the body’s natural rejuvenation process. Your brain’s just… bored.” She shrugged elegantly. “It happens to everyone.”
“Uh huh. Bored.”
She nodded. “There’s a place on Osiris – a natural canyon. It’s one of the only natural places left. You have to walk. Hike. No technology allowed.” She sat on the edge of the table, her legs swinging. Jayne stared at her, a bit perplexed by the sudden change in conversation. She gave him a let’s-be-patient look and went on. “It’s a brutal hike. At the end, it opens to a vista. You’re so high up you feel as though you can touch the sky, see the world at your feet… Higher even than the Parliament building.” She focused on him. “Ninety-five point five six eight three percent of the people on Osiris have never seen the planet like that. They can’t make it. They won’t ride through to the end. And they miss things. They’ll never see the end.” She smiled and hopped off the table. “Trajectory check. Good night, Jayne.”
Jayne stared after her for a minute, then shrugged. He couldn’t ever figure out when she was being crazy or not. He went back to his bunk and began cleaning his weapons. It wasn’t quite ship’s dawn when he finished, so he sighed, picked up Vera, and started all over.
***
By the time they hit Borealis three days later, even Mal had noticed that there was something wrong with his merc. The job had gone smoothly for once, and after dividing the take, the crew had gone their separate ways. Exhausted, Jayne had found some rooms near the edge of town. Hoping that the combination of a scenery change, sheer exhaustion and a soft bed would prevent the dream from recurring, he finally allowed himself to sleep.
It didn’t help.
The dream started as it always did. This was the part of the dream he loved. He stood in a sun-drenched field on Icarus, surrounded by waving golden grasses. He knew without looking that it was early spring, that behind his left shoulder stood his family’s house, and that off to his right was a series of outbuildings. Though he knew he should be a little younger, he felt and looked the same as he did now. Over one shoulder he held a pick and shovel, and he strolled a few hundred meters nearer to the edge of the field. He knew from previous dreams that his dream-self had marked out a well to be dug here, as the old one was going dry. With a familiarity born of experience, he began clearing and digging.
What seemed like hours passed, and the well grew steadily deeper as the sun climbed in the sky. He had found his rhythm, bending, scooping, tossing, repeating. Jayne found himself working with bated breath, waiting for the rest of the dream to start. He was unsurprised, then, when a cooling shadow fell across him. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he looked up out of the well to see her.
This was the best part of the dream, for it was more memory than anything else. Jayne never tired of the first sight of Felicity standing at the edge of the well. She was a few years younger than he, with long silky reddish-brown hair that caught the sunlight like nothing he’d ever seen. It was constantly escaping the braid into which she forced it every day, but not that Jayne minded in the least. She was wearing what he thought of as the uniform on Icarus – battered work pants and boots, and a plain cotton shirt. He knew for a fact that the shirt had been her older brother’s, but that was just the way of things on Icarus. She wore a dark green pea coat against the breeze that tangled her hair.
Felicity smiled down at him, so pure and pretty and genuine that it nearly broke his heart every time he saw her again. She offered him her hand, helping to pull him out of the well, though they both knew it was more a gesture than anything else. He could just have easily climbed out himself, or flexed just right and pulled her down in with him. She absently brushed some dust off his shoulder as she spoke.
“Your ma’s gone to town to get some supplies and medicine. She said she’d be back by nightfall. She also said that you’d forget all about eating or drinking or anything else until the gorram well was done, and that I should make sure to remind you that the old one’s got enough for one more day.” She laughed slightly. “Her words, not mine.” She picked up a bulky pack on the ground that made a gentle sloshing noise as she strung it across her chest and shoulders, and smacked him gently in the stomach with the back of her hand. “So let’s go forget the well for a while.”
Jayne let the way down the familiar path leading to the river’s edge. They had found the spot a couple of years before, with trees sweeping down to a small tributary of the Blackhoof River. Felicity shrugged off the pack, rolling her shoulders as she dropped it gently on the ground. Jayne knew better than to offer to carry the pack; he had asked once a long time ago, only to find that Felicity would be willing to chew off her own fingers before letting that bag be carried by another. She opened the pack, producing a large, flat, sealed container, laying it in arm’s reach. She then proceeded to pull out lunch. Jayne noticed with some embarrassment that the meal contained most of his favorites. He knew some of the stuff hadn’t come cheap, but he also knew better than to say anything about that, either. He thanked her, and they started eating.
After the meal, Jayne stretched out under one of the trees as Felicity sat next to him and pulled the sealed package closer, taking off her jacket and rolling up her sleeves. Pressing the button on the side and popping the seal, she extracted a sketchpad, some pencils, charcoal and pastels. She had scrimped and saved for years to have it, and once she had been able to order it from a shop on Osiris, she had made Jayne come with her every day to the docks to see if it had arrived. In the dream, Jayne remembered the day it had finally arrived – a body would have thought it was Christmas the way she tore into the package and laughed with delight, hugging Jayne and nearly every other gorram soul on the pier. Half-asleep, he smiled at the memory.
“Penny for your thoughts.” He heard Felicity’s voice coming from far away. “What are you thinking?”
Jayne smiled wider. “Dunno if I should tell you… how shiny’s that penny?” He wrinkled his nose as a clump of grass landed on his face. Opening his eyes, he turned to give Felicity a dirty look.
She looked up from behind her sketchbook and threw another clump. “You moved!”
“Go on,” he said, rolling onto his side and propping his head with his hand. “You know what I look like.” He gently sifted through the sketches in her case, stopping as he came to familiar ones. “You certainly draw me enough.” He flipped back through, looking for his favorites, and noticed a few missing. “They ask for more work? Did they take those farmers?” It was one of his favorites, and in his opinion one of the best she had ever done. The drawing was a pair of farmers in a field working to get the last of their crop in before a coming storm. For some reason, it drew Jayne back time and again.
Felicity nodded as she reached for a pastel. “They wanted two last finished pieces for the display for the Board.” Her hand stopped mid-stroke. “They still need workers, you know.”
Jayne had known this part was coming. It didn’t anger him – just made him sad, because they both knew how it would end.
“Molly ain’t strong enough yet. Doc says it might be months. A year, maybe. She just can’t shake it.” He reached over, touched her knee. “They’ll still need workers in a year. Shoot – they ain’t even got a name for the place yet. Terraforming, buildings, opera houses, manufacturing plants – and the second best art academy in the galaxy. And the mudders don’t even have a name yet.”
“That’s Alliance for you,” Felicity said, her hand moving again. “They’ll come up with one.” She made a few tiny adjustments and then handed the picture to Jayne. “Done.”
He looked at the image, feeling oddly like he was looking through a window at himself. Every plane, every line was perfect. This was just one, though. Felicity could do any sort of drawing she could set her mind to – abstract, realist, some things that Jayne had never heard of, including one type of dark not-quite-real style that gave him the willies just looking at it. She didn’t like the style much either, and for that Jayne was glad. It was downright unsettling.
“Idiots.” He spat the word, surprising himself with the viciousness of it. “I can’t believe Osiris turned you down.”
Felicity shrugged delicately. “It happens. I am from a rim world.”
Jayne sat up, placing the drawing carefully in the case. “Don’t mean nothin’. Rim world, Core world, don’t matter. Just because people got money to buy their way into things don’t mean that you have to be overlooked. It ain’t fair.” He was silenced by Felicity’s hand coming gently to his face.
“Fair doesn’t exist, Jayne. You and I both know that.”
Jayne put a hand over hers, resting his face in her palm. “A year. No more. We’ll have enough; Molly will be well if I have to pack the gorram doctor in my duffel bag. I’ll get a job out there, you’ll have all the supplies you want, and Osiris will come begging for you to teach. One year.” She gave him that smile – that wonderful, luminous smile that made him feel like he was bathing in a puddle of sunlight – and kissed him lightly on the nose. “To the future, then.”
He smiled back, turning his face to kiss her palm. “And to a planet that ain’t got a name yet. Home.” Jayne closed his eyes, starting the game they played so often. “A planet named… Lucia.”
“Guillermo.”
“Maggie O’Dell.”
“Tilton.”
Miranda. A vision of a young girl in a green silky dress flashed behind his closed eyelids.
Jayne’s eyes snapped open. He knew at once that the dream had changed. He saw himself leaning against the bulkhead in the cockpit, clutching Vera to his chest and silently mouthing what looked like a prayer. The crew were arranged around him, dead silent as they made their way through Reaver space. Before them, hanging like a jewel in the black, was the blue and white planet they had come so far to find. River spoke again, almost reverently. “Miranda.”
He looked around the cockpit, watching himself and each person in turn. He couldn’t seem to focus on a few people, as every time he looked at them a nightmarish image of decay seemed to flash over their faces. Jayne couldn’t watch them for too long. He watched out the cockpit window as the planet grew closer, and they landed. He saw the buildings spread out below him, wondering in which of the huge cities one might find an art school. He watched himself as the crew exited Serenity, moving down the streets and discovering the bodies, watched as they comforted River and moved toward the abandoned shuttle. He stayed in the street, looking at each of the buildings in turn, letting the unearthly silence wash over him.
“Turn of the tide,” came a voice behind him. This was new. He turned to face river, dressed in blue and standing barefoot on the sidewalk. “Single twigs have been known to divert full streams. One tiny fulcrum makes the difference.” She turned to walk away. “Twigs, sticks, words…” She trailed off, staring into a window, past the bodies leaning on the walls and chairs. “Single stalks of wheat.”
Jayne stepped toward her to see what she was seeing. It was a lush office, with carpets, a massive wooden desk, expensive furnishings and vases. On the wall, carefully lit, hung a framed, sketchbook sized drawing of two farmers, gathering their crop before a coming storm. Jayne felt his fists balling as he pressed his hands against the glass. He turned back to River, only to see that she was gone again. In the distance, he saw Inara exit the shuttle, with Mal close on her heels. He dragged his gaze back to the picture. A thumbprint on the back of the picture. His thumbprint. He hadn’t quite finished cleaning up when she showed it to him. He had to know… had to see…
He suddenly realized he had been pounding on the glass for quite some time. His hands growing numb, he cast around for a weapon, something to break the glass. He grabbed a steel canister from the first downed shuttle and ran back to the window. He closed his eyes to protect them from flying glass and rammed the canister forward –
Only to have it slam into something that gave and screamed. Jayne could feel blood splatter across his face and he opened his eyes to see a Reaver dropping in front of him. He looked to his left and saw Kaylee go down. “Move!” he yelled. “Back behind the door!”
“Ask me again,” Zoë shouted above the din. He stared at her, incredulous. “One more time would do it,” she continued. “Ask me again, and I’ll do anything, stay anywhere, and to hell with Osiris and all the rest.”
Jayne pushed her back toward the door. “Stay,” she said, looking intently at him. “Four letters. You say enough four letter words to make a sailor blush. One more wouldn’t hurt.”
“What the hell you talkin’ about?”
Simon stood up to answer, “You should have asked her, you overdeveloped unmannered man-ape gone-” a shot rang out, and Simon dropped like a stone. River was one him in an instant, running past Jayne a moment later, tossing in the doctor’s medical bag and shutting the door. Jayne watched himself and Zoë working on the doc and Kaylee, until Inara came and sat down next to him. Jayne looked at his hands.
“I knew she would,” he said, scrubbing the blood from his palm with a thumb. He looked up at Inara, wanting her to understand. “That’s why I didn’t.” He looked down again. “I could have saved her. I could have stopped her. I could have kept her from all… this.”
Inara shrugged elegantly. “No one can tell the future. Not even River, no matter how hard she makes you think she can.” She paused, watching the elevator make its long way back to their level. “You did what you thought was best. You wanted the best for her, and she loved you all the more for it.”
The lift doors opened, and Mal stepped through. “Where’s River?”
Jayne watched the doors open to show the now-familiar sight of River standing in a pile of Reavers. He stepped into the room, trying not to see the Reaver at his feet, with blood on her face and hands and oddly luminous red-brown hair. Trying not to notice the calluses on her fingers from countless hours holding a pen, pencil, or pastel. Trying not to notice the designs painted on her bracers or leather pants, drawn with great care and realism. Trying not to notice how the vibrant blues and purples on the leather blurred in his vision as he forced himself to focus on Simon’s back as they made their way out the hole in the wall the Alliance had created. He blinked against the bright sunlight that made its way into the hanger as he walked -
Out of his home on Icarus and onto the porch. He stood in the late afternoon sunlight, squinting a bit as he surveyed the land in front of him. Turning, he sat on one of the rockers on the porch, allowing it to move gently back and forth with a soft creak.
Jayne felt her before he heard her. Felicity stepped onto the porch, her figure outlined in the setting sun. She wore a dress she had once worn to a friend’s wedding, blue-green and filmy. Smiling, Felicity closed the distance between them and slid onto his lap. She smelled of sage and lemongrass and warm sun. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck.
“I’m sorry” was all he managed before breaking into heaving sobs. He clung to her like a drowning man, feeling her tears tracing lines along his skin as she rested her cheek on his hair. She traced her fingers along the back of his neck, and after what seemed like an eternity, his sobs quieted. Jayne felt peace wash through his body for the first time in months.
Jayne felt a cool breeze as the sun set. He shifted his face a little, feeling a cotton pillowcase against his skin. He woke fully, feeling damp patches on his pillow and face, with the smell of lemongrass still lingering in the air.
He rose, dressed, paid his bill and made his way back to the ship. With no one else yet on board, he climbed the ladder to his bunk and opened a lower drawer. Pushing aside socks, bandanas, spare ammunition and collected souvenirs, he pulled out a flat, brushed metal case. Breaking the seal, he lifted the cover reverently. The picture on top was a drawing of himself, but younger. The planes and lines belied the talent of the artist, and the gentle twitch of a smile on his face gave more life to the image.
Jayne smiled slightly, and lifted the image to the one underneath. He traced his fingers along the protective shield covering the image and let his fingertips rest beneath the two figures – farmers. One tall and strong, one shorter and slender. They worked their field, trying to get in the last of their harvest before the oncoming storm. Or were they?
Maybe, thought Jayne. Just maybe, the storm had already passed.
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No one knows what it’s like To be the bad man To be the sad man Behind blue eyes
No one bites back as hard On their anger None of my pain and woe Can show through
But my dreams They aren’t as empty As my conscience seems to be