![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveficlet for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elfbystarlight set after 'Ariel' but before 'Trash'.
It was the hardest thing he'd done, since the first time he'd picked up a gun and shot somebody. He'd been eight years old and the Granger brothers had broken into his momma's shop before they'd opened. At the time, he hadn't really understood what they'd been after. He'd only known that his momma was screaming and his daddy's gun was hanging on a peg by the door to their quarters behind the shop.
Daddy had said he was to protect his momma and take care of her, so he'd pulled the gun out of the holster and shot, twice, just like his daddy had taught him. The town sheriff had called it self-defense and his momma had cried for days and called him her big man, for years.
Squeezing the trigger, knowing that the man would die, had been hard. Nearly impossible, even with his momma crying behind the register.
This was harder than that, because he had all the time in the world to think. He didn't have to do this now -- no one knew he was doing it, no one would expect it come morning. But he knew, and he'd know if he'd failed to do it. So he was trying to do it and he couldn't get past 'Dear Simon.'
It wasn't just that he couldn't spell very good, and it wasn't because he'd had to use a piece of ammo wrapper for stationary. The grease pencil he'd found wasn't leaving clean lines, but it was all he had to work with and he had to do this.
He tried again to write the first sentence. He'd been trying to do that for -- how long? Not just tonight, sitting here for three hours already. But nearly every night for the last several weeks, since their run on Mesotani when Jayne had saved Mal's life and Simon had saved them both, and three very drunk men had spent an evening sitting on the floor of the loading bay butchering every old song they knew.
Jayne had seen the way Mal looked at Simon, and seen the was Simon looked at Jayne. And he'd known what it all meant, because he hadn't had much schooling and he wasn't very smart, but he'd lived with people all his life and there were some things that were true for them all.
The truth was, he wasn't who Simon should be looking at. He knew it, and everyone knew it, except for one stubborn doctor who wouldn't take a hint. So Jayne had decided to aim him somewhere else, to a man who'd appreciate him and treat him right and would be a good man who deserved someone looking at him like he walked through starfields.
He picked up the pencil again.
Dear Simon,
I won't be coming back after we land on Tell's Planet, and there's something you need to know. About me, and you, and your sister, and what really happened on Ariel.
elfbystarlight set after 'Ariel' but before 'Trash'. It was the hardest thing he'd done, since the first time he'd picked up a gun and shot somebody. He'd been eight years old and the Granger brothers had broken into his momma's shop before they'd opened. At the time, he hadn't really understood what they'd been after. He'd only known that his momma was screaming and his daddy's gun was hanging on a peg by the door to their quarters behind the shop.
Daddy had said he was to protect his momma and take care of her, so he'd pulled the gun out of the holster and shot, twice, just like his daddy had taught him. The town sheriff had called it self-defense and his momma had cried for days and called him her big man, for years.
Squeezing the trigger, knowing that the man would die, had been hard. Nearly impossible, even with his momma crying behind the register.
This was harder than that, because he had all the time in the world to think. He didn't have to do this now -- no one knew he was doing it, no one would expect it come morning. But he knew, and he'd know if he'd failed to do it. So he was trying to do it and he couldn't get past 'Dear Simon.'
It wasn't just that he couldn't spell very good, and it wasn't because he'd had to use a piece of ammo wrapper for stationary. The grease pencil he'd found wasn't leaving clean lines, but it was all he had to work with and he had to do this.
He tried again to write the first sentence. He'd been trying to do that for -- how long? Not just tonight, sitting here for three hours already. But nearly every night for the last several weeks, since their run on Mesotani when Jayne had saved Mal's life and Simon had saved them both, and three very drunk men had spent an evening sitting on the floor of the loading bay butchering every old song they knew.
Jayne had seen the way Mal looked at Simon, and seen the was Simon looked at Jayne. And he'd known what it all meant, because he hadn't had much schooling and he wasn't very smart, but he'd lived with people all his life and there were some things that were true for them all.
The truth was, he wasn't who Simon should be looking at. He knew it, and everyone knew it, except for one stubborn doctor who wouldn't take a hint. So Jayne had decided to aim him somewhere else, to a man who'd appreciate him and treat him right and would be a good man who deserved someone looking at him like he walked through starfields.
He picked up the pencil again.
Dear Simon,
I won't be coming back after we land on Tell's Planet, and there's something you need to know. About me, and you, and your sister, and what really happened on Ariel.