Disclaimer: They're not mine, this is why.

Comments: This was originally going to be NC-17, but then they got really drunk and it just would have been wrong. So, it's pure, unadulterated drunken Jaylee fluff. Just... fluff.

Feedback: Always craved, always answered: wily_one24@yahoo.com.au

***

"There..." Mal grunts it out as he twists the screwdriver a few more vicious times into the paneling. "... that oughtta do it."

He turns and gives a very pointed glare to Kaylee, who blushes real deep, but doesn't look away. She smiles a bit, not a big, bright happy smile, more like a guilty one.

"Thanks." She says awkwardly, rocking back and forth a little as she holds her hands behind her back. "Um... it'll make things... easier?"

"See, how it works is: you need to press these two buttons now, at the same time, for the com to work." He's enjoying it, the bastard. "You'd have to be relatively sober to talk to the whole ship. No more room for accidents."

***

24 HOURS EARLIER:

Kaylee sits at the table staring at the letter in her hands. She doesn't know exactly what to do right now, her eyes sting and she wants to cry, but she knows if she does that's gonna bring questions and questions will only bring long, rambling stories out of her. Nobody wants that, not in the mood she's in.

And she was so happy to get the letter when they'd first picked up their mail.

She feels Simon enter the dining room, feels his eyes scan her up and down, and doesn't know exactly what makes her fold the paper into her hand and shove it quickly into the pocket of her coveralls. Just that she doesn't really want him to see her weepin' and carryin' on.

"Bad news?" He just has to ask her.

"Oh, no." She tries to smile, but she ain't really feeling it as she looks up at him. "It's nothin'. Don't worry about it."

By the crinkle of the skin at the corner of his eyes, she knows he doesn't believe her, not one bit. She's vaguely aware of Jayne sitting down at the other end of the