"How are you?"

Jayne tried to keep his eyes from contacting her's dead on, knowing how that affected him. "I'm fine. Doc fixed me up a few hours ago."

She nodded, blank-faced. "That's good. Glad to know you're back on your feet."

Jayne smiled weakly. "Yea. Don't much like bein' all weak, helpless, and the like."

Zoë finally caught his gaze. "You were nothin' of the sort. Did a good thing back there Jayne. Not a smart thing, but a good thing."

"Was just trying to keep ...keep the crew safe. No tellin what that sonufabitch woulda done to 'em. Seen the way he looked at ya womenfolk. Couldn't let 'em get the chance ta hurt ya."

Zoë looked away, knowing he was no longer talking about the crew, but about one member in particular. She looked back. “Thank you.”

He responded with a wordless nod. He was beginning to worry that they’d trade the same evasive banter for the next few minutes, and then she’d leave.

“Zoë.”

She looked back again. “Jayne?”

“We gotta talk.”

“No. We don’t.” She turned, ready to leave him there, having said everything she was comfortable with at the moment.

“Yea, we do. Few weeks ago, man shot at ya, I saw ya hesitate to take cover. I damn near had a heart attach. I know how-”

“BEE-jway Jayne! You don’t know a damn thing! I’m sick of you, you and this whole damned crew, lookin at me like you wish I’d just be me again. Like you know exactly how I feel. You don’t, and neither do they.”

“We on this ship done all lost somethin’ important to us sometime in our life. But we all here together, and when somethin happens, we gotta remember that.”

“Don’t go se with me, Jayne. I’m alone without him, and you all know it as well as I do.”

“You’re alone by choice, Zoë. Ya ain’t gotta be.” He stared at her, features hardened with uncharacteristic anger.

Ignoring the pain that still claimed most of his body, he climbed of the infirmary bed and stood in front of her.

“I ain’t askin for you to be the same person you were, Zoë. I just