Jayne stared into nothing, his rifle perched against the weights bench he was sitting on. He didn’t need to clean it, had done so the day before after he’d shot the deer, after he’d run through the long grasses to try and save Hank’s life.

But the pilot wasn’t the person on his mind. She was. His wife. His moonbrain. The mother of his child. His River.

It wasn’t what she’d done, at least not in the most part. If she’d told him what she’d planned, she could probably have persuaded him it was a good idea, or if she couldn’t, at least he could have gone with her. Protected her. Not that she needed it, being a weapon herself, but he’d never be able to get past the times when she had a bad day, and he was all that stood between her and a spell in the infirmary, juiced up to the gills and strapped to the medbed.

It was the fact that she’d not trusted him. No. Not even that. That she hadn’t even thought to tell him. Like he meant nothing. Like his opinions meant nothing. She was a genius, that was undeniable, but sometimes she was more stupid than ... than the most stupid person he’d ever met. And considering the circles he used to travel in, that was pretty stupid.

His stomach grumbled but he ignored it. Food, whilst normally a very important part of his life, wasn’t an issue right now.

She’d been gone a while. He didn’t have a timepiece on him, but his internal clock told him it had been longer than a few minutes. Maybe Mal had torn her off a strip, or maybe she’d done the puppy dog eyes on him and he’d relented. Somehow, Jayne wished it was the former.

A sound to his left made him sit still, even more so than before. It sounded like ... rain.

“She’s sorry.”

He turned his head slowly, the bones in his neck seeming to grind so loud he was sure she could hear them.

She stood in the common area doorway, his rainstick in her small hands, moving it slowly backwards and forwards, making it sing.

“Are yah?”

“Yes.” River stepped over the lip, the sound of ra