Angelle is mine, All else is Joss'.

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Punches...and not the kind that you serve at a shindig, but the fundamental piece to any decent hand-to-hand combat. After all, is it not called a fist fight? Whether you are a nun at some church or a criminal serving time, everyone knows what a punch is and most know how to throw one, be it terribly damaging or laughable. There are even names for certain ones...like uppercut and roundhouse...though the latter can also go in line with a kick. All in all, punches are key in any good fight, unless of course, your opponent was too stubborn to throw one.

"I ain't hittin' ya, Angelle." Mal, a thin grey shirt on that definitely showed off his defined muscles, even with the trusty suspenders still slid over it.

"It's called sparring. How am I going to practice if you won't come at me?" I stood staring at him, my bare feet tapping on the metal of the cargo bay. My hands were sweaty in my half gloves and shaking my head, I sighed.

"I don't hit women. Especially one I'm gonna marry."

"Well, if that be the case, why didn't you agree to let Jayne fill your spot?"

"Umm...no." He raised an eyebrow at the notion as I huffed.

"Ain't like you're gonna hurt me?"

"I might." He defended. "Just because I'm a ship's captain, don't mean I lost my edge, missy."

"You just call me missy?" I growled.

"Think I did." Mal smiled, almost causing me to lose my concentration as I reached out and slapped his face playfully. "Hey!" Rubbing his cheek, I smiled back at him.

"Only person allowed to call me missy died awhile ago." By his look, he knew I spoke of my mother, her pet name for me when she actually cared enough to speak to me. "And you're trying to tell me of the hundreds of jobs you have done, you ain't never hit a woman."

"Okay, maybe once, but she deserved it."

"Really? The mysterious life of Captain Sargent Reynolds slowly begins to crack open...so pray tell, what did this vixen do to warrant that Brown