A Bit of a Mix Up, 3/3
Title: A Bit of a Mix Up, Part Three
Not even Wash's haranguing an unrepentant Jayne could dim Mal's glow.
“Ta ma de, Jayne,” the pilot groused, as he wound the mule down to a halt in the cargo bay. “Everyone's gonna think I'm a total perv once this gets out.”
“Hell, Wash,” Jayne said, swinging off the vehicle, “everyone from here t' Beaumonde thinks you're a total perv already.”
“They do not either.” Wash turned his dark scowl onto his captain. “Mal, tell him everyone doesn't think I'm a perv.”
“Can't say as to everyone, Wash. Go on up and take us out of the world.”
Which meant, of course, that Jayne had to go up too, as Wash still insisted on the buddy-system whenever he was doing any real flying. Tromping up the stairs to the catwalk together, their nattering continued.
“Look, ya gotta stop, okay? Just stop doing things with my body that make me look bad or, or creepy or perverted.”
“Whatcha gonna do if I don't, huh? Ain't neither you nor Zoe's gonna do any real harm to me walkin' 'round in this.”
“I'll- I'll shave.”
“Wh-what?”
“I'll shave. Everything. Everywhere.”
“Now, Wash, no need to get all excitable-like.”
Zoe appeared at Mal's elbow, and he, barely, managed to suppress a start.
“Went well, sir?”
“Yes, indeed. Indeedy do do do,” he responded, perhaps a tad giddy. “Could get used to this particular arrangement.”
“Don't advise it, Captain,” Zoe said with a quelling look.
“Well, hell, Zoe. Don't they say it's what's inside what counts? Is Wash less Wash if he looks like Jayne?”
“Won't argue on that too far. However, happen to have a particular attachment to the whole Wash-body configuration.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Haven't ever seen him in the altogether, have you, sir?”
“Can't- can't say as much, Zoe, no.”
“Well, then, sir, I'm not going to go much further but to say the whole arrangement is rather mind boggling.”
“Boggling,” Mal said weakly.
“Yes, sir. Boggling.”
“Shut up and help me stash the cargo.”
“Yes, sir.”
The sixth day, post-swap, they parked themselves on another little moon, this time to load on four dozen large cases of contraband flower bulbs. New cargo meant shifting old cargo, and Wash had some fun, using the brute strength of Jayne's body to shift crates he would have been staggering under in his own. Grunting, he lifted a box, stacking it neatly on top of a pile nearly as high as his head. He turned, and almost barreled over River, who had appeared silently behind him.
“Nyah!” he yelped, skipping around her, barely catching himself. Strength, Jayne had. But his own body was just a little quicker.
She looked up at him unconcernedly, then turned her dreamy gaze back to the crates he had just uncovered. “Not mystical,” she murmured. “Not natural. Simply... electro-mechanical.”
“What is, River-bird?” He'd discovered, if he gave her time and didn't demand linearity, he could sometimes piece together what she was trying to communicate.
“Transmigrational trigger.” She cocked her head. “Pandora's dilemma.”
He followed her gaze, and found himself looking at a metal crate labeled 'MacGuffin Neurometronics, Inc. R and D Department.' He felt things go clickity-clickity-click in his brain, and then he was hollering, Jayne's big voice filling the cargo bay, “Zoe! Mal! Jayne! She found it! River found it!”
Zoe, Mal and Jayne, scattered around the bay, set down whatever box or crate they were shifting, and gathered around Wash, who was excitedly dragging a long rectangular metal case into a clear spot. Mal recognized it as some electronic gear he was to drop on Beaumonde when they lit down there in a week or so.
Simon, wary ears having heard River's name bellowed in agitation by a loud voice he still perceived as Jayne's, trotted from the infirmary to the bay. There he found his sister on the outskirts of the group gathered around the crate. No one was paying any particular attention to her, and when he went to her and gently put his arm around her shoulder, she simply turned her head to smile placidly up at him.
Wash was saying, “We opened it. Jayne and I opened it. And that night the swap happened.” Pale eyes wide with excitement, he demanded, “We gotta open it again! See if we can figure it out!”
“You opened it?” Mal glowered at the two men. “An' y' thought this was a good idea exactly why?”
Both men's eyes slid to River, standing nestled under her brother's arm. Simon shifted a bit uneasily, but she simply nodded, and said, “Unknowing, the hands grasp, the maw consumes. But in the belly, the beasts flourish.”
Mal offered no further comment at the moment, simply giving his crewmen a look that promised a nice, long chat later. Both shifted back an uneasy step. Mal held out his hand to Zoe, and she placed an EM crowbar in it. Taking it, Mal bent to set its edge into the crate's top seam. He paused when River gave a startled squeak, grabbed Simon's arm, and dragged him, stumbling, up the steps to the first landing. There, she stopped, and gave everyone a serene smile, petting her confused brother's arm where her fingers had pinched his bicep.
Mal glanced up at Zoe, who gave a suggestion of a shrug, and shaking his head, he triggered the crowbar. The clasps of the metal crate clicked open, Mal rose from his crouch, and he and Zoe lifted off the lid, leaning it on one edge behind the crate. Mal flipped up the top layer of packing foam, and both Jayne and Wash edged forward to peer inside.
“Oh, hey!” the dark man blurted. “It wasn't doing that when we looked at it!” All the readout screens glowed, lines of varicolored lights oscillating in regular waves.
Mal turned a jaundiced eye on his crewmen. “So, who thought it was a good idea t' fiddle with the gizmos?”
Both men shook their heads. Wide eyed innocence worked lots better with Wash's face, as Jayne asserted, “Didn't fiddle with it none, Mal. Just looked. Never touched it.”
“Oh, hey! When you picked up the lid, after it slid back. You put your hand on top of the foam. Right there.”
“No way you makin' this my fault, li'l man!” Wash's body didn't do so well with the looming as his face did with the innocence, but Jayne gave it a shot.
“No, no, I'm just sayin',” Wash soothed, fending him off with a gentle paw. “That button there, the big one, just under where you put your hand, maybe that's the on switch.”
“An' maybe it's the self-destruct button,” Mal snapped.
“Why would a personality transferring machine have a self-destruct button, Mal?” Wash queried, dark brows furrowed quizzically.
“Why would ya have a personality transferrin' machine, at all, in the first place?” Mal retorted.
“Oh, I can think of all kindsa reasons,” Wash enthused, pale blue eyes lighting up as various notions danced through his head. “You could-”
“Bizui,” the captain demanded and Wash did. Muscles in his jaw working, Mal glared back and forth between Wash and Jayne.
“Say we push the button, sir,” Zoe said calmly. He glanced at her, jerked a single nod, then bent and pushed the button. The machine powered down. Both Jayne and Wash froze, expressions intent. After a long tense moment, Wash sighed.
“Nothin',” he said despondently. Jayne began to curse bitterly under his breath.
“Um,” Simon said, as he followed his sister skipping back down the stairs. Mal stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm as she bent forward to peer intently at the inactive device.
“No touching,” she assured him, looking up into his face, large eyes earnest. “The peregrinations are already excessive.”
“I have an idea,” Simon offered awkwardly.
“Please, Doctor, do tell,” Mal snipped. “'Cuz not only am I plum out, I never had that many to start out with.”
“Well, presuming this machine does, in some way affect brainwave patterns - which, to be perfectly honest, I don't see how it could. I've never heard any mention of any type of any such devices in any of the literature-”
“Simon,” Zoe said quietly.
“Yes, well.” He nervously cleared his throat. “The... exchange of... personalities took place while Wash and Jayne were sleeping. It's possible that the transfer can occur only when- when the subjects are in a certain part of their sleep cycle.” He made circling motions near his own head with one hand. “When their brains are involved in a particularly receptive pattern.”
“So, so give us a knock-out pill or shot or somethin',” Jayne demanded, clutching at the young man's vest with a hand not that much smaller than his real one. Simon peeled it off him, and straightened his clothing with a sharp tug and a glare.
“It's not that simple,” he stated. “A drug induced unconsciousness is not the same as natural sleep.” He reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Perhaps, now that the machine is off, no longer sending out whatever... impossible... electronic waves, your minds will... return to their proper places when you reach a specific part of your sleep cycle.”
“So, so, we should just go to sleep? Think that will work?” Wash looked at him with anxious, yet hopeful, eyes. Simon found the look disturbingly appealing on a face he usually found himself glaring at in disgust. He hated to squash the hope, but he had to be honest.
“This situation is so utterly preposterous, I don't know what to think. I'm simply putting forth my best hypothesis given the data I have.”
“What kinda gorram doctor are ya, anyways?” Jayne muttered, scrunching fair brows down in a scornful scowl.
“I'm so sorry, W-Jayne,” Simon replied acerbically. “I realize now it was a huge mistake to skip my Mind Transference 101 class.”
Jayne grunted. “Damn straight.”
That night, Wash had to do about a gazillion push-ups and even about half a gazillion abdominal crunches, before he was worn out enough to think about falling asleep. He tried very hard not to think about what Jayne might be doing to relax enough to be able to drop off. He crawled into bed, and ran navigational calculations in his head, until, finally, he slipped into the first stage of sleep, sinking down, then cycling back up...
The smell of gun oil brought him all the way out of sleep. For the second time that week, he woke up in Jayne's bunk. Only this time...
“Yee hah!” he shrieked, bounding out of the bed, his hands, his own, his very own hands, clutching at his arms, his chest, verifying he was back where he belonged. He rushed to the mirror, and his true and proper face beamed giddily back at him in its reflection. Ai ya, he really needed to shave.
He spun, leaping across the cabin, to scramble up the ladder, squeezing through the hatch before it could open completely.
“Yes, yes, yes!” he yelled, dancing exultantly in the corridor. He heard whoops of joy coming from his old bunk, and Jayne popped out of the hatch, laughing dementedly. Spotting Wash, he leaped for him, grabbing him by the shoulders, and the two of them, hooting, guffawing, hopped around together in a small tight circle.
“Looks like it worked,” Mal said, coming up the steps from the galley, where he and his first mate had been drinking liters of watchful midnight tea.
“Looks like,” Zoe replied dryly. But she wasn't even trying not to grin at the dang fools waltzing in the corridor. Wash saw her, and hauled himself out of Jayne's grip, and flung himself toward her, babbling, “Don't punch, lambie-toes! It's really, truly me!”
Kaylee's head popped up out of the hatch to her bunk, peering down the corridor toward the ruckus. She saw that an unclobbered Wash had Zoe twined in his arms, and realized what had happened. “Oh, so, good, it worked,” she said, with a sleepy, complacent grin. “Knew it would, if Simon said so.” She yawned hugely. “Well, g' night, y'all. 'M back to bed.” She ducked back down, the hatch closing behind her.
“Bed, yes, bed, bed, bed, bed,” Wash chortled, as he took Zoe's hand, and walking backwards, led her toward their bunk. “I'm a whole week behind on my husbandly duties, I'll have to work extra special hard to catch up.”
Laughing delightedly, shaking her head at his foolery, Zoe allowed him to lead her away. Jayne and Mal looked after them, and when the hatch to their bunk clanked shut, Jayne grunted.
“Hell, iffen I'd known just actin' like a complete feng le sha gua was all it took, woulda had me some days ago.” Shaking his head in disgust, Jayne headed for his bunk, grumbling, rolling his shoulders, “Don't think Wash took proper care. 'M all... edgy-like.” He dropped down the entrance to his bunk, still open after Wash exited it. The hatch clunked closed behind him.
“Now, that went well,” Mal told the empty corridor around him, dusting off his hands. “For a change.” He, too, took himself to bed.
His wife welcomed Wash home so well and thoroughly, he thought he was gonna pass out. After, wrapped in her arms, smiling, he drifted off to sleep in his true and proper body, in his true and proper place.
He woke again, with a little start, just before ship's dawn, relaxing when he found he was still in his own body, in his own snug bed. Zoe warmed him, sleeping on her side with her back to him. He spooned up behind her, curling his arm over her, his hand lightly cupping her lower breast, a configuration they often slept in. He drew in a long, slow breath, grateful for her familiar scent filling him with joy and relief and, okay, some burgeoning lust. He wiggled his hips a bit, arranging things so he wouldn't commit egregious poking.
He felt her breathing shift, then she stiffened in his arms, just for a moment. In the next moment, he found himself pinned on his back, Zoe's hand on his throat, squeezing, as she glared down at him in furious outrage. He tried frantically to remind her he was him again, but all he could manage were some squeaky gargling noises.
The hatch to their bunk crashed open, and Mal, naked, was sliding down the ladder, yelling, “Don't hurt him, sir, he thinks you're me!”
Zoe looked over at Mal, then down at herself, then sprang back, away from Wash, off their bed, an expression of utter horror on her face. She snatched up the blanket, wrapping it tightly around herself, a stream of foul Chinese pouring from her mouth.
Clutching his throat, coughing, Wash could only stare, wide-eyed, gaze flicking back and forth between them, as icy realization dawned.
“You okay, honey?” Mal asked as he paced toward the bed, which was all manner of creepifying.
“Good, I'm good,” he rasped, waving the nude Mal, aw hell, Zoe off. He rolled out of bed, grabbing a pair of pants, and scampered up and out the hatch, still naked.
“Where you going?” Mal and Zoe's voices chorused up after him.
Hopping on one foot as he dragged his pants on, he hollered down, “Beaumonde! We gotta get that thing off this ship ASAP!” Striding to Kaylee's bunk, he hammered on the hatch, yelling, “Get up, Kaylee! We're goin' hard burn - now! - and you gotta keep us from blowing up!”
Then he sprinted for the bridge.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chinese translations
ai ya - darn, damn
bizui - shut your mouth
cao qingwa de liumang - frog humping punk
feng le - crazy
gouzazhong - mongrel
hun dan - jerk, bastard
lao tian ye - God
renci de Fozu - merciful Buddha
sha gua - fool
ta ma de - damn it