The usual disclaimers, Joss, Mutant Enemy, etc.

***

"Gotcha!" Mal yelled as he grabbed his best friend around the waist from behind and spun her around, smiling as she shrieked indignantly and then proceeded to laugh with him. "Just where do you think you're going, Roro?" He asked, ruffling her golden blonde hair to annoy her-as if calling Roro didn't do that enough already.

Mac punched him in the arm, hard, though she didn't explain herself. He knew what he'd done wrong; he'd even done it on purpose. "Same place yer goin'." she replied, walking backwards so she could face him. "To make a stand." she said, and it was as if she had been in Mal's head, which generally they were on the same wavelength.

"I don't think so." Mal said, sighing. He was going to change her mind. He had to. There was no way he was letting Mac go to war. Not his Mac. His best friend. Rowan MacKensie, the girl next door. So to speak, as she did live five miles away from Mal, which, on this part of Shadow, made them neighbors. They'd been practically inseparable since before they were even out of diapers. Mac, the girl he'd risked ear boxings for to sneak out at night and sit by the lake to look at the stars with. No, his Mac was not going to war if he had anything to say about it. "What do you wanna sign up for anyway? It's no place for ladies."

Mac just gave a little snort, "If I were a lady, maybe I'd care. I don't think no one's ever termed me a lady before. It don't really apply. Farm girls hardly count as ladies. 'Sides, I don't remember givin' you a say on what I do and where I go."

"You just can't go." Mal said stubbornly. "I won't let you." Reasoning didn't work, so now he was moving on to threatening.

"Won't let me?" Mac asked, one eyebrow raising up so high that Mal thought it might rise right off of her head. "Won't let me?" she asked again, her tone incredulous. "Jian ta de gui! Malcolm Reynolds, I think you'd best rethink those words and whether they're worth losin' the family jewels for." she said, "