Mal is almost out the doorway back to his bunk. Alone. To strip off his wet clothes. Stand under a hot shower for a good long time to scrub off the smell of wet leather. Of somebody not him dying. Of his eternally unfulfilled want and desire for Inara.

Sadly, he knows that the last one will never leave his skin.

Then he barely hears Inara’s whisper.

“It was never just a job.”

He freezes, knowing how much easier and harder all at the same time it would be to just walk away. Down the hall away from the bridge. Away from that invisible wall both of them built with pride and shame and guilt and anger. And, most important, away from her.

Ironical that it would be his leaving this time.

Yet he knows all too well that there is nowhere to run away from it any longer. That it’s grown bigger than either one of them. He draws in a ragged breath.

“That so?”

Inara falters, looks down. As she does so, one thin blue strap of her gown falls off her shoulder. Mal wants to gently put the strap back in its proper place. He wants to kiss that bared shoulder. He wants to turn his back and not look behind him.

“Yes, Mal. I never wanted…this…you…to be about business.”

And right there, she’s taken away his options. All but one. He looks her dead in the eyes.

“Inara, I stink to hell of that sumbitch right now. I am gonna go wash it off me. You got precisely 15 minutes to decide if this is more than just payin’ me back for a job well done. My bunk in 15 minutes. Or not. Your call.”

“Mal, I…”

“Clock’s tickin’, sweetheart.”

It is a miracle he makes it to the showers without turning around to see the look on her face. She’s already killed him once and made him kill for her. He’s not sure he can take another round of death.

Fifteen minutes, and he is not sure which way she will go with it. He scrubs as clean as he can in the allotted time, as much to force himself to believe there is something more than just angry words and regret between them. He wants desperately to believe there is more, but be