Haven. Three years after Miranda…

Jayne stood over the graves. Silent, unmoving, eyes downcast.

The graves lay before him, five in all. Five friends, comrades, crew. People he had known and trusted, people he had shed blood with.

One whom he loved more than anything in the ‘Verse, no, more than life itself.

“Been a year now, Kayleegirl.” He said with a small, sad smile. “Year to the day.” He brought the bottle to his lips, drank deeply of the clear, burning liquid, swallowed, and repeated the process. No matter how much he drank it would not leave him. No matter where he was, what he did, it would not go away.

The image in his mind tormented him beyond reason, drove him nearly to the point of madness.

He saw it in his sleep, in every friendly face that glanced his direction then avoided his haunted glare.

He drank again. The alcohol did nothing for his memories, intensified everything, and brought his suffering to fresh heights. That suffering was all he had now; Mal was gone, Zoe dead and Inara in hiding, the Tams beyond his care or concern. Friends and loved ones who cared for him, up until that night.

He closed his eyes, and the nightmare that was the past year played in his head all over again.

The job had gone so wrong as to be near comical in its failure. Not only did the information prove to be false, but the Feds were waiting, armed to the teeth, and ready to taste Browncoat blood on their lips.

Zoe’s status as a former Dust Devil was the trigger for it all. The escape from Pelorum only postponed her inevitable downfall, only made things more unrealistic in regard to their escaping. Ephraim Sanda notwithstanding, there were plenty more Alliance agents who wanted a piece of those terrorists.

They had cornered the crew, and in the ensuing gunfight, followed them back to Serenity while Mal and Jayne exchanged gunshots with them in the back of the Mule. It had gone all the way up to the ramp of the cargo bay, until Mal took a hit in his shoulder, leaving Jayne pinned down