Pain radiated from his shoulder, burning through his blood and hurnin’ more than a bullet wound should. Jayne wondered, as he walked slowly to the bridge, if them gorram Reavers mighta tipped their bullets with something. He’d have the Doc take a look later.
It struck him then, that he trusted Simon more than the feds who’d patched them up. No time to dwell on that, he reminded himself, pausing just within the bridge.
Mal had refused to let the Feds on Serenity, his ship had been violated enough and he wasn’t about to let strangers…
Jayne figured he should be proud that Mal trusted him with this job, but he couldn’t seem to muster any emotion. About anything. Even anger failed him.
The pain his shoulder began to throb.
He couldn‘t seem to move, his view into the bridge unobstructed. Wash was slumped down in his chair, the wooden spear visible slamming through the window and into his chest.
His head started to ache.
Jayne had seen plenty of death in his time. Been the cause of more than a few fatal injuries. Bent his back under the cold weight of friends, closed eyelids to hide from the death stare, looted pockets for food and weapons and money. Best he could figure, Mal thought he could handle this better than anyone else.
He handled dead bodies before. Just never imagined he’d be handling this particular one.
The burning pain moved to his chest, expanding and making it hard to breathe.
Jayne understood the finality of death. But it didn’t stop him from resting his hand on Wash’s cold shoulder, his whispered words breaking the silence.
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