“That’s what you get for sneakin’ into the Captain’s bunk.”

Mal laughed when the blush fell across Inara’s cheeks. Of course he knew about her watching him sleep. Knew by the peace on her face that one night they’d stayed up talking until they were both practically drooling with exhaustion. Knew because he’d fallen asleep on the bridge one evening and woke up covered with a blanket and surrounded by her sweet fragrance. Knew because he was the Captain and nothin’ got by him (i.e., Zoë told him). And Mal wanted her to come. The first night, he’d left the door to his bunk open, inviting her in should she want to talk again. In the morning, he’d awoken to the sweet smell of jasmine and though she hadn’t woken him to talk, he knew she’d been there. After that, he just left the door unlocked and let her live with her guilty secret. He reveled in it too. There were nights, he’d retire early and lie awake in his bed for hours hoping to hear the sound of her climbing in. She never wore shoes at night. Even now, as the two sat on the Infirmary bed, her in her blue robe, him in the same brown shirt he’d worn the last two days, her feet dangled in the air, completely bare, her manicured toes painted a delicate purple.

The grav boot may as well be shut down for as light as he felt with his arm wrapped around her. The way she smiled and laughed and rested her head on his shoulder. The self-conscious concern on her face as she touched her bruised forehead. The flush of her cheeks when he outed her. He almost regretted it, fearing she would recoil in shame and never come visit him again. But those amazing, brown eyes met his timidly, and she could see that he didn’t mind her stalkish behavior one bit.

“I’m sorry, Mal,” she murmured, ducking her head. He couldn’t stop his hand brushing away the locks falling around her face, pulling back the veil that threatened to separate them. Mal never imagined he’d be so close to her in this life time. Never imagined his hand would be resting on that smooth curve of her hip. Never im