"And what makes you so gorram sure I'd choose you?"

Jayne Cobb blamed the words. Not that he believed them. There was no rutting way Mal would choose the pompous doctor over him. It had been the stress, the frustration talking.

And still the words had left just a big enough piece of doubt in his mind to make him ponder them most of the day. After all, he did recall a certain time spent in an airlock. And it was enough to make him think too much. To cloud his judgment. To let his guard down. To forget paying attention to his surroundings.

And he was in a place where you most certainly should have your wits about you. He sat at the counter at the local bar (another costumer had given up his seat after he'd glowered at him), spending the last of his money on watered-down drinks, and tried to shed that feeling of uneasiness.

Then someone put a gun to his back.

He blamed the words. It shouldn't have been so easy to overpower him.

His instincts told him to fight back, to draw his own gun, but apparently his instincts were a little slow today and so he managed to quell the urge to do what would have been suicide. Instead he glanced sideways at the person holding the gun, who at that same moment sat down in the chair next to his.

"I suggest you let Hui take your weapon," the man said, nodding towards someone Jayne could not see, but sensed moving around behind him, and the next moment a hand removed his gun from its holster.

Ta ma de. He really blamed the words.

He looked over his shoulder and watched the man who had just disarmed him retreat to the corner of the room, joining another guy already sitting there.

"Hey, Jayne," the man in the chair next to him said. "Remember me?"

Jayne turned back towards him, scowling.

"Rufus Miller," he replied. "I see you're still one ugly summabitch."

He'd recognized the man straight away. Hadn't expected to see him here, though. But then again, people from his pas