Firefly Ficlet: MY OWN PRIVATE OSIRIS (Jayne/Simon, PG-13)
Shall the blessed son of heaven prove a micher, and eat hodgeberries? A question not to be asked
“What time is it, Simon?” I asked.
“What do you care what time it is? Unless clocks were…bank vaults and the sun was, was, a hooker in a red dress.”
I yawned. Doin’ the horizontal sinkapace with him always put my lights out. You’d think he’d just lie there, bein’ brought up to have folks do stuff for him, but he had Ways.
Didn’t take to him at first. Them clothes, and them little red glasses, made him look like some kinda night-trippin’ fairy. And his manner. But then I put two and two together, and carryin’ on hoity-toity was just his way of keepin’ it together, in terms of how scared he was.
Then later, when shit’d go all hogwire, he’d turn to me and put his head on my shoulder (well, that’s as far as it reached anyway) and say he wished it was bedtime and all well. And I’d tell him he owed God a death, to cheer him up.
Then one day Simon wasn’t at lunch, and I asked that damn girl what was up with that, and she said that he was packing, the warrants being gone they were going to chance that it wasn’t a trap and go home.
“Hell he will,” I said. “Gettin’ rid of The Man They Call Jayne’d be like gettin’ rid of the whole world. Once you go Black, you never go back.”
She shook her head. “He does. He will.”
“We wasn’t ever but a way station for him anyway,” Mal said. “If you recollect back, all he planned to do was deliver a package to Boros.”
“Yeah, well, maybe his plans weren’t no smarter than yours,” I said. “Anyway, we had us some times, him and me. We have heard the mimes at midnight.”
“Jayne, you can’t…” Kaylee started in, but Zoe just kinda shrugged at her.
Mal is always uppity in the air about bein' a man of honor, but hell with that crap. That's how you get holes shot in you, and honor don't fill 'em up or set your broken leg. Lucky we had Simon for that. Till we didn't.
Right at first they sent waves all the time, and sent money. It tailed off, wouldn't you know. Then one time we was within shuttle-shot of Osiris, so I paid a visit.
They made him Minister of Health, I guess they thought that would make it up to him for havin’ to associate with the likes of us, but I could tell from the straight line of his back, as he sat at a desk the size of a coffin, that he wasn’t havin’ no fun sittin’ there signin’ stuff with a fountain pen.
That ain’t why he became a doctor. He did it because he likes cuttin’ on people, just like me only with more applause (except in Canton). He looked up, and all the color drained outta his face and he didn’t know whether to call Security or not or if they were even not dead. (I have a sense of proportion, some of ‘em were knocked cold and some of ‘em had a sense of proportion too.)
“I know thee not, old man, fall to thy prayers,” he said. “How ill white hairs become a fool and a jester!”
That wasn’t the way I thought it’d go, but hey, his loss. So I left and maybe took some silvery stuff that was layin’ around on the way out. If I’d had a heart it woulda killed it.
I was pretty flummoxed for a while. But I got it all figured out. After everything, including associating with the likes of me specially, Simon just has to keep his copybook clean for a while. Then I’ll be sent for. At night, if you see what I mean.
“What time is it, Simon?” I asked.
“What do you care what time it is? Unless clocks were…bank vaults and the sun was, was, a hooker in a red dress.”
I yawned. Doin’ the horizontal sinkapace with him always put my lights out. You’d think he’d just lie there, bein’ brought up to have folks do stuff for him, but he had Ways.
Didn’t take to him at first. Them clothes, and them little red glasses, made him look like some kinda night-trippin’ fairy. And his manner. But then I put two and two together, and carryin’ on hoity-toity was just his way of keepin’ it together, in terms of how scared he was.
Then later, when shit’d go all hogwire, he’d turn to me and put his head on my shoulder (well, that’s as far as it reached anyway) and say he wished it was bedtime and all well. And I’d tell him he owed God a death, to cheer him up.
Then one day Simon wasn’t at lunch, and I asked that damn girl what was up with that, and she said that he was packing, the warrants being gone they were going to chance that it wasn’t a trap and go home.
“Hell he will,” I said. “Gettin’ rid of The Man They Call Jayne’d be like gettin’ rid of the whole world. Once you go Black, you never go back.”
She shook her head. “He does. He will.”
“We wasn’t ever but a way station for him anyway,” Mal said. “If you recollect back, all he planned to do was deliver a package to Boros.”
“Yeah, well, maybe his plans weren’t no smarter than yours,” I said. “Anyway, we had us some times, him and me. We have heard the mimes at midnight.”
“Jayne, you can’t…” Kaylee started in, but Zoe just kinda shrugged at her.
Mal is always uppity in the air about bein' a man of honor, but hell with that crap. That's how you get holes shot in you, and honor don't fill 'em up or set your broken leg. Lucky we had Simon for that. Till we didn't.
Right at first they sent waves all the time, and sent money. It tailed off, wouldn't you know. Then one time we was within shuttle-shot of Osiris, so I paid a visit.
They made him Minister of Health, I guess they thought that would make it up to him for havin’ to associate with the likes of us, but I could tell from the straight line of his back, as he sat at a desk the size of a coffin, that he wasn’t havin’ no fun sittin’ there signin’ stuff with a fountain pen.
That ain’t why he became a doctor. He did it because he likes cuttin’ on people, just like me only with more applause (except in Canton). He looked up, and all the color drained outta his face and he didn’t know whether to call Security or not or if they were even not dead. (I have a sense of proportion, some of ‘em were knocked cold and some of ‘em had a sense of proportion too.)
“I know thee not, old man, fall to thy prayers,” he said. “How ill white hairs become a fool and a jester!”
That wasn’t the way I thought it’d go, but hey, his loss. So I left and maybe took some silvery stuff that was layin’ around on the way out. If I’d had a heart it woulda killed it.
I was pretty flummoxed for a while. But I got it all figured out. After everything, including associating with the likes of me specially, Simon just has to keep his copybook clean for a while. Then I’ll be sent for. At night, if you see what I mean.