Mal. Inara. A certain something everyone knows.

Post-Serenity.

Not really fluffy, not really not. Not really shippy, not really not.

--------------

Pause

--------------

"I'm sorry, you're out of time, sweetheart."

The voice was well-chosen, all fluid suggestion of sweet and sticky treats, making the bitter disappointment all the more humiliating.

"I'm sorry, you're out of time, sweetheart. I'm sorry, you're out of time, sweetheart. I'm sorry, you're--"

The whap of a smothering pillow did little to dissuade the handsome talking head on the wave monitor.

"-- out of time, sweetheart."

Inara growled low in her throat. Or rather, she muttered. "Unbelievable, rutting, arrogant piece of space trash..."

The small controller in her hand fought valiantly against crushing death under well-manicured hands.

"Worthless, manipulating waste of time and money," it came forth between clenched teeth.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're talkin' 'bout me."

"Bwah!"

She whirled around with such ferocity that the only response he felt it in himself to give was an equally heart-felt, "Bwah!"

Complete with the jumping of half a foot.

They blinked at each other for a few seconds, he wide-eyed and bewildered, she wide-eyed and just slightly manic.

"It won't let me win," she finally ventured, an attempt at calm poise.

He blinked again. "Right."

Before he could speak again, Inara frowned eloquently. "I'm not talking to you."

It was said with accusation, as if she had been tricked. Under her narrowed eyes, he noticed a certain lack-- well, actually a fairly new overbundance of dark, bruise-colored rings of exhaustion.

"You're not sleeping?"

The frown merely deepened, taking on a certain egde of stubborn confusion.

"I'm perfectly fine, Mal."

Her eye twitched when the voice beehind her droned on about failure to meet time constrictions. He cast a careful glance, just half a second, so as to not miss any sudden move on her part, aimed at injuring