Author note: All characters in the fic so far belong to Joss Whedon and all the other proper owners of the show "Firefly." I also realize that it would not be permissible to say "shit" on television. That's the beauty of fanfics.

This is written in script form. Mainly because that's how I see it and I've gotten lazy with doing descriptions in straight prose. Also because I like to play make-believe when no one's around, and what is make-believe besides an improv play? The idea spawned from just such a special alone time, and you better believe I played all the characters.

Enjoy.

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Scene: Mal and Jayne are walking through knee-deep snow and navigating around giant snow-covered boulders. It is Earth that Was, somewhere in Siberia, and they are looking for a certain piece of cargo. Mal is carrying a shovel and a pretty cheap tracker that has no screen but rather beeps when they're getting closer to the coveted object. He's dressed in a long trench coat and gloves, and actually has a scarf on, but no hat. Jayne is wearing the hat his mother made for him, a scarf, ski gloves, a parka which goes down almost to his knees, and is walking like he's wearing about four pairs of pants. He's carrying a shovel as well, and begins complaining for the 14th time since they got off ship.

Jayne: Gorramn freezing on this rock. (Tightens the string of his hat under his chin and sticks his free hand in his other armpit.) Mal, was the money so good we gotta be traipsin' around this god-forsaken planet like a bunch of --

Mal (interrupting) Would you quit your belly-achin' already? I'm trying to find somethin' and I can't hear the tracker with you yammerin' on like that.

Jayne: (quieter) Place gives me the creeps is all...

Mal: I hear what you're sayin', Jayne. I'm just wondering when I made any inclination that I gave a shit. Now pipe down. We got a job to do.

They take a few more steps before the tracke