Kaylee had insisted that all the decorations in the mess stay up until the twelfth day of Christmas. Amidst a barrage of grumps, grumbles and River referring to him as Cap’n Grinch, he’d relented, with the proviso that come Jan. 7, there had best not be one scrap of tinsel visible on his boat.

What the gorram hell was a Grinch anyway? Surely didn’t sound like anything good, but with River, it was hard to know for certain. Either way, the day was almost over and there was still tinsel strewn about from the ceiling. Truth be told, though, given this past year, Mal just didn’t have the heart to hunt Kaylee down and make her restore his mess to normal.

‘sides, with his luck, he’d prolly interrupt her and the doc playing Jingle Bells.

Nope, best just to finish off the last of the mulled wine Jayne had made up and wait until things returned to their usual controlled chaos tomorrow. And maybe, just maybe, he might get himself good and stewed enough to ignore the voices whispering inside his head.

In particular, the loudest one, telling him it was time to own up to Inara about…

What?

That he’d been utterly moonbrained for her since the day she floated onto his boat?

That he’d lost more sleep than he cared to say to exceedingly detailed and vivid dreams about her?

That he’d not survive her leaving again.

Problem was, there was not enough alcohol in the ‘verse to get him that drunk, so that he’d live with himself if she decided to leave again.

And then seeing her there, leaning over the catwalk railing just outside her shuttle, he knew he was far too sober for the thoughts running through his head. Or for the unguarded smile she gave him. And he was especially nowhere near sloshed enough for that shortie satin kimono she was wearing.

He felt for the small wrapped package in his pocket. He’d been hoping she’d be abed and he could just leave it outside her door. He’d been too self-conscious to give it to her proper for Christmas. Tho’ fair was fair, as she’d not gotten him anything.

No