Disclaimer: Everything here belongs to Joss Whedon, et al. The dreams are mine. Seinfeld reference in Part Eight.

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Part One

Mal was on piloting duties. The rest of the crew had retired to their quarters, except for River. She was alone in the lounge, humming a tune to herself, limbs extended in an elegant, balletic dance. Lost in her own world, she didn’t notice Jayne trudge into the kitchen.

Jayne, purposely ignoring her, busied himself with finding something edible to quiet the rumble in his gut.

“Protein,” he grunted to himself, foraging through cupboards. “ More protein. We just got paid, where’s the ruttin’ food?”

“I can make you something,” said River, overhearing.

“Yeah, I bet you can,” Jayne muttered to himself, snatching up a sachet and an apple. He made to leave but, upon facing the room, stopped. River had resumed dancing, her skirt swirling hypnotically about her ankles.

He watched her curiously for a moment.

“They’re dancing,” she explained, though he had not asked aloud.

“Come again?”

“Simon and Kaylee.” She turned a graceful pirouette and fell into the nearest chair.

It took a second for Jayne to decipher the metaphor.

“You don’t really think them two is dancin’ in there?” he snorted, taking a bite of the apple.

“Two bodies, moving together,” River mused, gazing across the room at him. “Same rhythm, same song.”

Jayne looked away, a strange feeling of warmth spreading through his chest. River tilted her head, waiting for a response.

“Forgive me if I ain’t appreciatin’ the poetry,” he said, grimacing. “Gorram doctor’s gettin’ more action ’round here than I ever got.”

“You asked Inara once,” River said evenly, standing up and drifting into the meals room. “She said you’d never have enough credits.”

Jayne bristled as a smirk tilted the corner of River’s mouth.

“Don’t need to pay for no whore,” he snarled, marching out of the kitchen.

A giggle floated down the hall after him.

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Part Two

Serenity [/i