Disclaimer: These characters belong to the unequalled Joss Whedon. If this story works, it is because of his genius, not mine. And if the series had continued, I wouldn't have felt the need to write it.

“So, what d'ya think?” Mal asked, twisting this way and that, concentrating on trying to get a better reflection of himself on the blade of the meat cleaver he held in his hand.

“Of what, sir?” Zoe asked patiently.

“Of the pants, Zoe,” he enunciated slowly as if talking to a particularly simple child.

“They're just pants, sir,” she replied with a small shrug.

“So, you got no opinion of them, at all?” he asked, running his hands over the seat of his new breeches and halfway down the back of his thighs.”Care to pass an opinion as to their fit? As my second in command?”

Zoe looked him steadily in the eye, maintaining a serious expression. “Think they may be too small, sir,” she finally offered.”In the ...too small all over.”

Mal let out an exasperated breath. “They're supposed to be...snug...Zoe. Don't you know anything about style?”

“Not really my area of expertise, sir.” She turned calmly and left the mess just as Simon entered with uncharacteristic haste.

Mal attempted a nonchalant catwalk across the room to the coffee jug. ”Hey, doctor,” he said over his shoulder.”How you doin'?”

Simon froze and stared at him hard, suspecting some sort of trick. “Fine. Needed a glass of drinking water for my patient...” he was saying carefully when the exaggerated swagger Mal had adopted to walk back across the room brought him up short. “And how are you, Captain?” For a horrible moment he feared Mal might be trying to get him to look at his ass.

“Oh, I'm just dandy,” Mal replied, smiling broadly. ”Dandy!” he repeated, chuckling at his own joke.

Simon was bewildered and a little intimidated. He preferred Mal to be predictably gruff. All this smiling and laughing was making him uneasy.“Glad to hear it. Uh, Captain?”

Mal spun round, his eyes alight with the anticipation of a compliment.