The rest is still unwritten (commodoresexual) wrote in figgarama,
The rest is still unwritten

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It just wouldn't be a Figgy-day without pie.

It had been carefully seal-wrapped and packaged, inserted in bio-plastic to keep it from squishing into a fine pastry glop in the bottom of the box. When he opened the casing, carefully as if he was holding Vera, the smell of fresh apples wafted up to his nose.

Jayne Cobb couldn't help but smile, then re-read the note his mother had scrawled along with it, 'Happy Birthday to my special boy. I hope this reaches you in good health and love, Mother'. He didn't even want to think of the expense of the apples, or everything else thatn went into this apple pie. He just knew his mother had always made him and his brother apple pie on every birthday for as long as he could remember, and no matter where he was, what kind of situation his criminal life had gotten him into, there was always an apple pie waiting for him when his birthday rolled around again.

It was special, that pie, and meant to be thought of that way.

So naturally, the moment after he had carefully cut and portioned out two slices, put the rest into freezer storage with a note that said, 'Jayne's. Tooch n Diye', he found his way down to the cargo hold where he knew she would be.

She danced, pretty as a blossom on the winds, moving to a song only she could hear. He often thought it might be like that song Kaylee liked to listen to, soft violins and sweet strains of a better life. He watched her, balancing the two plates awkwardly but not caring. Nothing that beautiful should be stopped.

She slowed then, turning toward him and offering that beautiful, fragile smile that meant the medications had taken hold, and the world was solid beneath her dainty feet. She glanced down at the plates in his hand, then up at him curiously. "What's that?"

"Pie." He said gruffly, moving to put her plate down. "Didn't you have any pie in that fancy house of yours?"

"We did. It was covered in cream, sugar and lies." She responded, moving over to it, dipping her finger down, then swirling it between her lips. He stared, lust caught in his throat. She smiled as she looked up at him, "It's your birthday pie, isn't it? I can taste the love and years."

"M'mother made it for me." He said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Special like."

Her head cocked in confusion, a dark haired bird contemplating a rather strange species of other bird, "Then ... why are you sharing it with me?"

He shrugged, looking anywhere but into those dark eyes, "B'cause, I don't know. I guess ... well, you're special too, to me. So...I thought..."

A thought that died a happy death as her lips stole it from him, her slender arms wrapped around his blushing neck. She tasted of apples and cinammon, and the best place to be. Home.
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