Hank was working out. He’d taken to using Jayne’s weights late at night, when he was pretty sure the big mercenary had retired to his bunk, and was now doing arm curls. His t-shirt was damp and sticking to his back, but he knew he had to work up a sweat for it to do any good.

“What the hell’re you doin’?” came a voice he knew all too well.

Hank turned and looked up to see Jayne leaning on the railing of the catwalk. “Um, hi.”

“I knew someone was messing with my stuff. Just never figured it was you.” He walked down the stairs.

“I … uh …” Hank looked down at the dumbbell and considered claiming to be sleepwalking. Or maybe sleep exercising.

“You tryin’ to get some shape into that thing you call a body?” Jayne asked, striding across the cargo bay floor.

Hank wondered just how fast he could run, given he was on a small boat and there wasn't much place to run to. “I was just …” He tried a grin. “You not sleepy?”

“Thought it might be Freya, or maybe even Zoe. But you?”

Hank sighed. “So I was using your weights. Is that a crime?”

“Depends on what you were using ‘em for. What are you tryin’ to do?” Jayne asked. “’Cause whatever it is, it ain't workin’.”

Hank glanced down at his body. He didn’t think it was that bad. “I’m toning.”

“Toning.” Jayne looked at him, his face blank. “Ain't that what girls do?”

“Are you calling me a girl?”

“Hey, if the pants fit …”

Hank let that slide by. “It’s just …” He paused.

“Zoe?”

“Yeah,” the pilot admitted. “There she is, this warrior woman with a body to make a man just want to sit up and beg, and here I am with little more definition than … than one of Simon’s saline bags.”

“Well, you’re goin’ about it all wrong.”

“Wrong?” Hank looked down at his T. “I’m working up a sweat.”

“That ain't the point.” Jayne took the dumbbell from him and did a couple of curls, his biceps bulging impressively. “Any fool can work up a sweat. Even the captain, and he don’t exercise at all. ‘Cept for when we play ball.”

“You t