(no subject)
Jayne moves through the bar quickly, and strides out the front door without wasting any time.
It's not till he's halfway down his ladder that he pauses to notice the thoughts running through his head like a litany.
Gotta get home gotta get home gotta get--
Well, and why not? Home's where you holster your gun.
Ship's fairly quiet, but there's people about. It ain't silent. Sounds like maybe Doc or River's down by the infirmary.
Clink of plates in the kitchen.
Homely sounds.
He descends the rest of the way into his bunk, and just leans against the ladder for a second.
Ain't nothing really changed. Ain't nothing different, except he's been gone for a fortnight, and his guns probably all need oil, and he'll have ot go through and make sure River didn't take nothing but those Snap cards, and there's a thing on his pillow--
Thing. Package. Pillow.
Hunh.
He shuffles over, picks it up. It's a tin. He shakes it. Soft sounds. Not bullets, or a knife.
He opens it up.
Cookies.
Jayne's surprised into a grin.
Cookies, and for him.
There's a few broken from the shaking, but he doesn't care. Instead of doing work, or cleaning his guns, Jayne stretches out on his bed, the tin on his chest, and reads one of the comic books Lilly lent him.
It's good to be home.
It's not till he's halfway down his ladder that he pauses to notice the thoughts running through his head like a litany.
Gotta get home gotta get home gotta get--
Well, and why not? Home's where you holster your gun.
Ship's fairly quiet, but there's people about. It ain't silent. Sounds like maybe Doc or River's down by the infirmary.
Clink of plates in the kitchen.
Homely sounds.
He descends the rest of the way into his bunk, and just leans against the ladder for a second.
Ain't nothing really changed. Ain't nothing different, except he's been gone for a fortnight, and his guns probably all need oil, and he'll have ot go through and make sure River didn't take nothing but those Snap cards, and there's a thing on his pillow--
Thing. Package. Pillow.
Hunh.
He shuffles over, picks it up. It's a tin. He shakes it. Soft sounds. Not bullets, or a knife.
He opens it up.
Cookies.
Jayne's surprised into a grin.
Cookies, and for him.
There's a few broken from the shaking, but he doesn't care. Instead of doing work, or cleaning his guns, Jayne stretches out on his bed, the tin on his chest, and reads one of the comic books Lilly lent him.
It's good to be home.