They were in trouble. Which wasn't unusual. They were being chased, also not as unusual as he would have liked. But as they ran, Mal pondered the fact that it hadn’t gone smooth. Again. He and Simon pounded along, dodging other people, barging into one or two, almost falling then running again. Not that it had been his fault, this time. If Simon hadn’t started talking to someone, hadn’t been drinking at the time, and hadn’t been entirely stupid enough to mention that they could get their hands on anything the other guy needed … Mal had come back from the john to see Simon being held up against the wall being frisked, and two men saying that he was being arrested. Mal had sighed, shook his head, then laid them out with a chair. Unfortunately, he then found out that they’d already called the local Feds who were on their way. So they ran.

“Next time you and Kaylee have an argument, you can go out and get drunk on your own,” Mal gasped.

“I don’t intend there to be a next time,” Simon said, his breath rasping in his chest. “Whatever she says I’ll agree with.”

“Best you do.”

Simon risked a look back over his shoulder. “Are they still following?” he managed to say.

Mal nodded. He didn’t have to look. “Still there.” Then he almost collided with a mule, had to stagger to maintain his balance, but couldn’t manage it. He sprawled into the dust by the ramp up to a sleek ship.

“Oh my,” he heard someone say as they stepped down towards him, and feet came into his view.

Mal’s gaze travelled upwards, past heavy brown work boots with trousers tucked in, not unlike his own, to a gunbelt slung low; again, not unlike his own. Higher, though, the illusion was spoiled by a black leather basque, strapped and laced tight, and the swell of two magnificent breasts thrust forward. Only the brown leather waistcoat and brown duster coat stopped it being quite so erotic. Or maybe made it more so, depending on your particular perversion. Above, a woman’s head with short hair, bleached blonde in patches,