joss100 Challenge Fic: Dream
Title: Count Bodies Like Sheep
Author: cornfields
Rating: R
Character(s): Jayne, River
Prompt: Dream
Word Count: 1023
Author's Note: The title is taken from the song "Pet" by A Perfect Circle.
"They're coming soon."
He cracked open sleep-weighted eyes to find her darkening the window. Her hair was wild over her shoulders, loops and snarls catching light from the street below. He could hear the muffled sounds of drunken laughter in the barroom beneath their dingy little room. Raucous music vibrated through the floorboards and legs of the bed frame.
"Go back to sleep, girl," he rumbled tiredly, and rolled onto his back. The .45's grip was a cold comfort in his hand as his index finger caressed the trigger guard.
She turned her face turned toward him, and he caught a flash of pale rounded cheek and dark eyes. "Not now," she said. "I will watch over you tonight."
A laugh caught in his throat. "Don't need looking after." He sat up, rubbing his free hand across his eyes and ignoring the pain in his side. "What I need is for you to be sharp tomorrow."
"As a tack," she replied flippantly. "I slept on the shuttle."
"That weren't more'n twenty minutes," he said. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You still sore with me?"
"No." She contradicted herself by reaching a hand up to finger her swollen and split bottom lip. She turned back to the window. "Sleep. Need you sharp tomorrow, too."
He sighed and fell back onto the pillows, draping an arm over his eyes. "We die tomorrow, I'm blaming you."
There was the rustle of cloth and the mattress shifted beneath him. He peeked around his arm to find her sitting on her knees beside him on the bed. They regarded each other in silence, neither making a move or speaking. Finally she reached and smoothed cool fingertips over his brow.
"If we die tomorrow, I'll blame myself," she whispered. "It's my fault we're here."
He caught her hand in his, uncomfortable with the affection in her gesture. "Ain't, so much."
"It is. If I'd been listening for them, they never would've taken her." She started to get agitated again, swaying out of his grip and wringing her hands together. "Why didn't I just listen?"
He sat up again, grabbing her by the arms. "Stop it," he snapped, punctuating the order with a shake. "Don't you go woolly on me, girl. I need you to keep it together for me here, now, dong ma?" He released her and scooted so he was leaning against the headboard. "Just a little bit longer, and I promise you, you can be crazy much as you like."
She dropped her head into her hands and sucked in a deep, sobbing breath before chanting, "I can do this, I can do this, I can do this," under her breath.
"You don't, and we're humped," he said. He yawned and rested the gun on the pillow beside him. "After tomorrow, you don't never have to lay eyes on me again. But 'til then, you settle the hell down and give me some peace."
She raised her head and glared at him but nodded in affirmative, her mouth a thin, miserable slash. "We will both sleep," she muttered, and promptly curled up on the bed with her bony little back to him. "I will dream of days without Jayne Cobb."
He smirked at the back of her head, and he could've sworn that the muscles in her shoulders bunched and tightened under his gaze. "Suits me fine," he said, sliding back onto the mattress and curling around her on his side. The .45 still rest beside his head on the pillow. "It'll be a dream come true for the both of us."
"Me especially," she ground out savagely. "No more Jayne, no more blood and sex and death pounding in my head. No more bodies stacking up like bricks--"
"Shut it," he growled dangerously. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end, and he wondered if he wouldn't have to hit her again to get her out of his head. "Shut your gorram trap."
"I can't even count them anymore, Jayne." Her voice had dipped low, almost a whimper. "Endless, countless, so many."
"Keep on counting," he sneered in an attempt to put a damper on his own fear. "People gonna keep getting dead, should they get in the way of me and mine."
"Bravado," she wept bitterly. "Empty words. You have nothing."
He reached for her and flipped her over and against him, covering her mouth with his hand. "Now you listen to me, River, and you listen good; 'til we meet up with the others, you're my responsibility. Mine." He took his hand away from her mouth but continued to glare at her. "Mine until tomorrow. Then I get my cut, and you get to be the problem of some other poor hun dan."
"And whose problem will you be?" she asked, her voice tearfully mocking him. "Whose door will you darken?"
"Nunya," he replied, pushing her back over on her side, away from him. "Now get that skinny ass of yours to sleep and start dreaming us elsewhere."
She made a little huffing noise before drawing her knees up against her chest and wrapping her arms tight around them. He lay still and listened to her breath as it steadied and evened itself out. The sounds from the street and the barroom below, as well the thready sigh of her breathing wrapped him in a blanket of white noise that almost soothed his nerves.
He snaked an arm around her middle, pulling her closer into the circle of his embrace and burying his face in her hair. The scent of her filled his nose, of smoke and whiskey from the bar, of sweat and wind over water. She wriggled and turned in his arms, tucking her head under his chin while her lips grazed the hollow of his throat.
"Am I dreaming, Jayne?" she wondered out loud after awhile. Her tongue darted out to taste the salt of his skin and he shivered.
"Yeah, you are," he murmured. "Is it a nice dream?"
"It is," she whispered. "It is."
Author: cornfields
Rating: R
Character(s): Jayne, River
Prompt: Dream
Word Count: 1023
Author's Note: The title is taken from the song "Pet" by A Perfect Circle.
"They're coming soon."
He cracked open sleep-weighted eyes to find her darkening the window. Her hair was wild over her shoulders, loops and snarls catching light from the street below. He could hear the muffled sounds of drunken laughter in the barroom beneath their dingy little room. Raucous music vibrated through the floorboards and legs of the bed frame.
"Go back to sleep, girl," he rumbled tiredly, and rolled onto his back. The .45's grip was a cold comfort in his hand as his index finger caressed the trigger guard.
She turned her face turned toward him, and he caught a flash of pale rounded cheek and dark eyes. "Not now," she said. "I will watch over you tonight."
A laugh caught in his throat. "Don't need looking after." He sat up, rubbing his free hand across his eyes and ignoring the pain in his side. "What I need is for you to be sharp tomorrow."
"As a tack," she replied flippantly. "I slept on the shuttle."
"That weren't more'n twenty minutes," he said. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You still sore with me?"
"No." She contradicted herself by reaching a hand up to finger her swollen and split bottom lip. She turned back to the window. "Sleep. Need you sharp tomorrow, too."
He sighed and fell back onto the pillows, draping an arm over his eyes. "We die tomorrow, I'm blaming you."
There was the rustle of cloth and the mattress shifted beneath him. He peeked around his arm to find her sitting on her knees beside him on the bed. They regarded each other in silence, neither making a move or speaking. Finally she reached and smoothed cool fingertips over his brow.
"If we die tomorrow, I'll blame myself," she whispered. "It's my fault we're here."
He caught her hand in his, uncomfortable with the affection in her gesture. "Ain't, so much."
"It is. If I'd been listening for them, they never would've taken her." She started to get agitated again, swaying out of his grip and wringing her hands together. "Why didn't I just listen?"
He sat up again, grabbing her by the arms. "Stop it," he snapped, punctuating the order with a shake. "Don't you go woolly on me, girl. I need you to keep it together for me here, now, dong ma?" He released her and scooted so he was leaning against the headboard. "Just a little bit longer, and I promise you, you can be crazy much as you like."
She dropped her head into her hands and sucked in a deep, sobbing breath before chanting, "I can do this, I can do this, I can do this," under her breath.
"You don't, and we're humped," he said. He yawned and rested the gun on the pillow beside him. "After tomorrow, you don't never have to lay eyes on me again. But 'til then, you settle the hell down and give me some peace."
She raised her head and glared at him but nodded in affirmative, her mouth a thin, miserable slash. "We will both sleep," she muttered, and promptly curled up on the bed with her bony little back to him. "I will dream of days without Jayne Cobb."
He smirked at the back of her head, and he could've sworn that the muscles in her shoulders bunched and tightened under his gaze. "Suits me fine," he said, sliding back onto the mattress and curling around her on his side. The .45 still rest beside his head on the pillow. "It'll be a dream come true for the both of us."
"Me especially," she ground out savagely. "No more Jayne, no more blood and sex and death pounding in my head. No more bodies stacking up like bricks--"
"Shut it," he growled dangerously. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end, and he wondered if he wouldn't have to hit her again to get her out of his head. "Shut your gorram trap."
"I can't even count them anymore, Jayne." Her voice had dipped low, almost a whimper. "Endless, countless, so many."
"Keep on counting," he sneered in an attempt to put a damper on his own fear. "People gonna keep getting dead, should they get in the way of me and mine."
"Bravado," she wept bitterly. "Empty words. You have nothing."
He reached for her and flipped her over and against him, covering her mouth with his hand. "Now you listen to me, River, and you listen good; 'til we meet up with the others, you're my responsibility. Mine." He took his hand away from her mouth but continued to glare at her. "Mine until tomorrow. Then I get my cut, and you get to be the problem of some other poor hun dan."
"And whose problem will you be?" she asked, her voice tearfully mocking him. "Whose door will you darken?"
"Nunya," he replied, pushing her back over on her side, away from him. "Now get that skinny ass of yours to sleep and start dreaming us elsewhere."
She made a little huffing noise before drawing her knees up against her chest and wrapping her arms tight around them. He lay still and listened to her breath as it steadied and evened itself out. The sounds from the street and the barroom below, as well the thready sigh of her breathing wrapped him in a blanket of white noise that almost soothed his nerves.
He snaked an arm around her middle, pulling her closer into the circle of his embrace and burying his face in her hair. The scent of her filled his nose, of smoke and whiskey from the bar, of sweat and wind over water. She wriggled and turned in his arms, tucking her head under his chin while her lips grazed the hollow of his throat.
"Am I dreaming, Jayne?" she wondered out loud after awhile. Her tongue darted out to taste the salt of his skin and he shivered.
"Yeah, you are," he murmured. "Is it a nice dream?"
"It is," she whispered. "It is."