Onion Soup and Worldly Skills (Simon, Jayne, PG)
Title: Onion Soup and Worldly Skills
Author: Jen (jazzfic)
Rating: PG
Prompt: Sunday, for Challenge 144
Characters: Simon, Jayne
Words: 920
Disclaimer: Property of Joss.
Summary: Jayne reminisces; Simon's not interested.
They say that it's the biggest men who fall the hardest, and I soon learnt that on Serenity it was Jayne Cobb, Mercenary to the meek and mild, who fitted this particular adage to perfection.
"That's a...mighty big jabber you got there, Doc."
He eyed it with suspicion. Bandaged up and bruised like a patchwork quilt, he certainly was a sight. One that wasn't lost on the rest of the crew, who, like the happiest recipients of a game of Chinese Whispers, had gathered en mass to witness my repair job to this, their latest skirmish. The knowledge that Jayne was just a little bit afraid of needles, was apparently too tempting a sight to miss.
I held it in my hand, poised, the silvery tip glinting in the air. Our audience went still.
"Can I please remind everyone," I said bluntly, "that this is an infirmary, not a zoo. And visiting hours are officially over."
Wash poked his hand in the air. "Excuse me, Doctor, but my wife and I are very keen to observe this procedure, not to mention your particular worldly skills--"
Zoe elbowed him. And at the same time Mal laughed and began ushering them all out. "Sorry, Doc," he said. "Only concerned for our gunman here."
Jayne nodded vigorously. "Yeah, concern for this weapon Calamity Doc here's about to stick into me."
"It's done."
He looked down.
"Wha...when?"
"When Wash was talking about my worldly skills."
I watched this sink in. "Oh," Jayne said.
Mal's smile was the last to leave.
**
"What are you doing here?"
I looked up from where I had been steaming my tired eyes over a mug of coffee.
"Taking a break."
Zoe nodded, a tiny smile appearing at the corner of her mouth.
"Difficult patient, huh?"
Blinking, I pushed the mug away. I didn't really like coffee. Why I was drinking it was a mystery, bar the fact that the pot had been sitting there already made when I had come up to the galley fifteen minutes ago.
"He talks in his sleep," I said, rubbing a hand over my eyes. I sat back, peering at Zoe. "You know, for a man of little speech, he can be a veritable wordsmith when you least want him to be."
"Really? That I'd like to see."
"Believe me, you don't. There's only so much a sane person needs to know about Sunday lunch."
Zoe looked confused.
"Ma Cobb's famous Sunday lunch," I continued, stretching my arms out in front of me. "Five courses, fit to--and I'm quoting here--'feed the arm off a gorramn heifer'."
"I see."
"Well, I wish I didn't. Thanks to Jayne I now have the recipe for baked sugar-squash imprinted squarely into my waking thoughts."
She looked around the empty galley, a little wistfully. "Sounds kinda nice, actually..."
"And he kept asking me what day it was. 'Is is Sunday, Doc?' 'Oh, Doc, you jus' wait for Sunday, Ma's gonna cook us up a feast'. Over and over." I shook my head. "I had to get away."
"Jayne's okay."
"I'm sorry--do I need to take your temperature as well? The man's got about as much intelligence as the onion soup he was so keen to describe to me."
Zoe leaned across the table. "Look. I'm not sayin' he's the smartest cookie in the 'verse. But he pretty much saved our lives today, and the fact is, I'd be lookin' to keep that man on your side, with or without childhood memories and imaginary Sunday lunches." She pushed her chair back, taking up my now cold mug of coffee, and tipped it into the sink. "Safe healing, Doc."
"Yes," I murmured, to her retreating figure. "But safe for who?"
**
Jayne was asleep when I returned. Remembering Zoe's words, I swallowed the sigh of relief, and examined his readings.
"Okay. Good."
"Whasgood?"
The slurred words made me look down. His eyes were open.
"You are," I said.
He seemed to be thinking hard. "I say anything when I...when I was..?"
"Yes. You mentioned lunch."
"Lunch?"
"Sunday lunch, actually."
Jayne frowned. "Now why'd I go an' talk about lunch?" His eyes lit up. "There weren't a shootin' involved by any chance, were there?"
"Not that I recall."
"Huh. Now, that's just plain curious. Only Sunday lunch I remember was the time I shot Two-Bit Charlie clean outta his chair for trickin' me over a job." He chuckled. "That were a sight to make yer eyes water, Doc. Man fell smack into a plate full o' potatoes."
"Did he really?"
"'Cept, after all that, I never did see that coin." He looked nostalgic for a moment, and then noticed me tapping the drip. "Speakin' of...when can I get outta here? Cap'n promised us shore leave next two days."
I shook my head. "You still need to rest. Maybe tomorrow. If I leave will you...promise to do that?"
It was like talking to a very dangerous child. I hovered over him, watching the idea filter through his brain. Jayne nodded.
"Okay. I be back in a few hours then. Try and keep those bandages in the places where I've put them," I said, sighing as he began to pick at the butterfly clip on his chin.
He scowled. "Fine."
I was at the door when his voice called me back.
"Hey, Doc. What day is it?"
"Saturday."
I turned slowly, just in time to see Jayne's face fall. "Aw, hell. An' I'm gettin' out tommorra? Damn it, Doc! Whores don't work Sundays!"
Author: Jen (jazzfic)
Rating: PG
Prompt: Sunday, for Challenge 144
Characters: Simon, Jayne
Words: 920
Disclaimer: Property of Joss.
Summary: Jayne reminisces; Simon's not interested.
They say that it's the biggest men who fall the hardest, and I soon learnt that on Serenity it was Jayne Cobb, Mercenary to the meek and mild, who fitted this particular adage to perfection.
"That's a...mighty big jabber you got there, Doc."
He eyed it with suspicion. Bandaged up and bruised like a patchwork quilt, he certainly was a sight. One that wasn't lost on the rest of the crew, who, like the happiest recipients of a game of Chinese Whispers, had gathered en mass to witness my repair job to this, their latest skirmish. The knowledge that Jayne was just a little bit afraid of needles, was apparently too tempting a sight to miss.
I held it in my hand, poised, the silvery tip glinting in the air. Our audience went still.
"Can I please remind everyone," I said bluntly, "that this is an infirmary, not a zoo. And visiting hours are officially over."
Wash poked his hand in the air. "Excuse me, Doctor, but my wife and I are very keen to observe this procedure, not to mention your particular worldly skills--"
Zoe elbowed him. And at the same time Mal laughed and began ushering them all out. "Sorry, Doc," he said. "Only concerned for our gunman here."
Jayne nodded vigorously. "Yeah, concern for this weapon Calamity Doc here's about to stick into me."
"It's done."
He looked down.
"Wha...when?"
"When Wash was talking about my worldly skills."
I watched this sink in. "Oh," Jayne said.
Mal's smile was the last to leave.
**
"What are you doing here?"
I looked up from where I had been steaming my tired eyes over a mug of coffee.
"Taking a break."
Zoe nodded, a tiny smile appearing at the corner of her mouth.
"Difficult patient, huh?"
Blinking, I pushed the mug away. I didn't really like coffee. Why I was drinking it was a mystery, bar the fact that the pot had been sitting there already made when I had come up to the galley fifteen minutes ago.
"He talks in his sleep," I said, rubbing a hand over my eyes. I sat back, peering at Zoe. "You know, for a man of little speech, he can be a veritable wordsmith when you least want him to be."
"Really? That I'd like to see."
"Believe me, you don't. There's only so much a sane person needs to know about Sunday lunch."
Zoe looked confused.
"Ma Cobb's famous Sunday lunch," I continued, stretching my arms out in front of me. "Five courses, fit to--and I'm quoting here--'feed the arm off a gorramn heifer'."
"I see."
"Well, I wish I didn't. Thanks to Jayne I now have the recipe for baked sugar-squash imprinted squarely into my waking thoughts."
She looked around the empty galley, a little wistfully. "Sounds kinda nice, actually..."
"And he kept asking me what day it was. 'Is is Sunday, Doc?' 'Oh, Doc, you jus' wait for Sunday, Ma's gonna cook us up a feast'. Over and over." I shook my head. "I had to get away."
"Jayne's okay."
"I'm sorry--do I need to take your temperature as well? The man's got about as much intelligence as the onion soup he was so keen to describe to me."
Zoe leaned across the table. "Look. I'm not sayin' he's the smartest cookie in the 'verse. But he pretty much saved our lives today, and the fact is, I'd be lookin' to keep that man on your side, with or without childhood memories and imaginary Sunday lunches." She pushed her chair back, taking up my now cold mug of coffee, and tipped it into the sink. "Safe healing, Doc."
"Yes," I murmured, to her retreating figure. "But safe for who?"
**
Jayne was asleep when I returned. Remembering Zoe's words, I swallowed the sigh of relief, and examined his readings.
"Okay. Good."
"Whasgood?"
The slurred words made me look down. His eyes were open.
"You are," I said.
He seemed to be thinking hard. "I say anything when I...when I was..?"
"Yes. You mentioned lunch."
"Lunch?"
"Sunday lunch, actually."
Jayne frowned. "Now why'd I go an' talk about lunch?" His eyes lit up. "There weren't a shootin' involved by any chance, were there?"
"Not that I recall."
"Huh. Now, that's just plain curious. Only Sunday lunch I remember was the time I shot Two-Bit Charlie clean outta his chair for trickin' me over a job." He chuckled. "That were a sight to make yer eyes water, Doc. Man fell smack into a plate full o' potatoes."
"Did he really?"
"'Cept, after all that, I never did see that coin." He looked nostalgic for a moment, and then noticed me tapping the drip. "Speakin' of...when can I get outta here? Cap'n promised us shore leave next two days."
I shook my head. "You still need to rest. Maybe tomorrow. If I leave will you...promise to do that?"
It was like talking to a very dangerous child. I hovered over him, watching the idea filter through his brain. Jayne nodded.
"Okay. I be back in a few hours then. Try and keep those bandages in the places where I've put them," I said, sighing as he began to pick at the butterfly clip on his chin.
He scowled. "Fine."
I was at the door when his voice called me back.
"Hey, Doc. What day is it?"
"Saturday."
I turned slowly, just in time to see Jayne's face fall. "Aw, hell. An' I'm gettin' out tommorra? Damn it, Doc! Whores don't work Sundays!"