Title: Mr. Pointy

Author: Jedi Buttercup

Rating: K+

Category: B:tVS, Firefly

Summary: Jayne gets into a weapon-comparing contest with Serenity's newest passenger. 300 words.

TtH 100 Prompt: #85 - Watcher

Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

Spoilers: B:tVS way post-"Chosen"; general Firefly

Notes: Also an entry for the TtH Fic-For-All, #1940 - Buffy/Jayne. A little light fic to cleanse the palate before my next Book's Legacy chapter.


"An' this one here is Vera," Jayne said, grinning fondly as he caressed the barrel of a sizeable gun with one large, callused hand. "She's my very favorite gun. Callahan full-bore autolock. Customized trigger, double-cartridge thorough gauge. Six men came to kill me one time-- the best of 'em was carryin' her. She's come in down right handy more'n once."

Mal rolled his eyes at the familiar story, but held his mouth shut, wonderin' what their newest passenger would pull out next. They'd been one-uppin' on weapons and battle stories for the better part of an hour, showing no signs of stopping; Mal was fair sure they'd forgotten he was there. Not the most edifyin' entertainment, perhaps, but better than a sharp stick in the eye, his momma would have said.

Or maybe not, Mal reconsidered with amusement, watching as the small blonde seated across from the mercenary pulled the next weapon from her remarkably capacious rucksack. Several inches long, pointed at the end, and carved in a spiraling pattern-- if that weren't a stick, he didn't know what to call it.

"What's that fer?" Jayne asked, skepticism plain in his voice.

The girl-- Buffy Summers, she'd said her name was-- grinned in a right disturbin' fashion and lunged across the table lightning quick, pressin' the tip of her stick against Jayne's chest round about the gap 'tween the third and fourth ribs.

Mal dropped a hand to his pistol in reflex, then relaxed; Jayne was grinnin' right back. The merc gripped the stick gently, movin' it aside, then reached up and wrapped a hand around the back of the girl's head.

"My kinda woman," Jayne growled, then dragged her in for a kiss.

The pointy stick clattered to the table, followed by--

Mal blinked, then beat a hasty retreat.

(fin)