The Last Spartan – Chapter Eighteen

Author owns no rights of any kind to Firefly, and writes solely for his own entertainment and that of others, receiving no pay for his work.

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They were three days out of Londinium when Jayne walked onto the bridge and handed Malcolm Reynolds a bag heavy with coin.

“Sufficient, I think, for your services,” he said formally. “If not, then I will make up the difference.” Mal took the bag, eyebrows raised.

“This’ll do,” Mal told him shortly. Jayne nodded and turned to go.

“Don’t appreciate you trying to steal my crew,” Mal said, stopping Jayne in his tracks. The big man turned to him.

“Steal? Why would I need to steal your crew, Malcolm Reynolds, when you are doing such an excellent job of running them off?” Mal flushed at that, fury in his eyes.

“How’s that?” he snarled, rising to his feet, fists balled in fury.

“You think it wise, Captain, to challenge me physically?” Jayne’s eyebrows rose in question. “You should recall how well that worked out last time.”

“I ain’t scared o’ you!” Mal retorted.

“Nor have you reason to be,” Jayne replied evenly. “I have not challenged you in any way, nor will I. Your problems with your crew, Captain, are entirely of your own making. If you lose them, it will not be through any act of mine, other than River. And that is no concern of yours.”

“You offered them a home with you!” Mal shot back, anger in his eyes.

“I offered all of you time at my home,” Jayne corrected him. “Time to rest, to recover, and be at ease. Where no enemy can touch you. You were extended the same courtesy, Captain, and despite my growing dislike for your company, the offer stands.”

“I ain’t keen on being obliged to someone like you,” Mal muttered.

“Is that it?” Jayne asked him. “That someone, or some thing like me would offer you kindness which you would see as an indebtedness? You can’t possibly be that stupid, Mal. Or that selfish, to deny the people you claim to love as family a few days respite in complete safety.” Ja