Nothing surprised her anymore.

She’d seen it all during the war. Life and death and every-gorram-thing in between. What she hadn’t encountered out on the battlefields, she’d seen traveling the rim, building a semblance of home and family with Mal.

And that’s all she thought it was. An illusion to get Mal through the days and the endless nights. An illusion she was more than happy to perpetuate for his sake.

It wasn’t until that moment, standing alone and unmoving in the cargo bay with Jayne’s blood drying to her clothes, making her hair sticky and her skin tight, that she wondered when illusion had become a reality.

The job was simple, but then, they always were on the surface. They’d traded with Gunner before. Had no reason to doubt him, but Mal had still instructed Jayne to stay within sight, but hang back unless he was needed. It was supposed to be simple.

Three crates. 400 platinum a piece.

They were outnumbered eight to one and only three firearms between them. These weren’t the kind of men they could reason with. They weren’t odds they could win. Jayne wouldn’t come. It was suicide. She and Mal had exchanged a weighted look, goodbye, because they both knew it ended here and drew their weapons. They’d go out fighting. Always.

It was suicide.

He came anyway.

He was her own personal miracle, a heavy hulk of a man raining bullets and rage on those out to kill them. His appearance renewing her resolve, she forced all thoughts from her mind and set her body on autopilot as she fought for her life.

Almost as suddenly as it had all began, it was quiet. Bodies littered the ground around them, and hers was the only one left standing.

She found the captain soon enough, her ears attuned to the sound of his muttered curses and she knelt down beside him, scanning his body for injury. He bled from shoulder and thigh, but he pushed her away as she bent to tend the wounds, “Jayne?”

Rising, she’d found him amidst the dead of Gunner’s gang, for a moment, feared he’d be staying there. The s