Disclamer: I do not own Firefly, for that belongs to my God Joss. And if I did it would not have been cancled.

Warning: Mal/River. If this offends, don't read it!

So wrong, it has to be right.

“They tell me I’ve gone mad,” the words fell from her crimson lips onto his ears like liquid honey. “They tell me I’ve gone insane.” She giggled to herself at the idea, the high innocent laugh of a schoolgirl. But, something about it was so sinister, so wrong, that it made the very hairs on the back of Captain Malcolm Reynolds’ neck stand on end.

Her large dark brown eyes stared up, completely ignoring the strands of her long, messy, dark hair that fell down before them. She surveyed him, stalked him, from her place perched atop the iron bed rail, her thin and toned body balanced perfectly.

“Your coverings are crooked,” she whispered suddenly.

“What?” Mal asked bewildered. She never had made much sense to him.

Muscles tensed, released. She sprang from the bed. Not quite human-like. And then she was in front of him. There had been no sound to her landing, no sight to her movement. What was she? It was all he could think as the breath hitched in Mals’ lungs.

“Let me.” The voice she used was soft, smoky.

This girl, who herself said she was mad, along with her feng le brother, took the bowl of hot protein mush that was held in Mals’ hands and placed it on the cold, hard, ship floor. Next to his hard worn boots, her own bare feet and all the while, faint steam rose up off the unfrozen, reheated sludge. Mal couldn’t help but notice the graceful hands, slender artists’ fingers with perfect, long nails.

Could they be sharp? He asked himself. With her, anything could be a weapon.

Deftly, she unbuttoned his top two buttons, which had been mis-buttoned, as was often the case with her often distracted captain. She re-buttoned the blood red shirt. Properly. She looked up into his deep, dark eyes, and raised an eyebrow with a cocky smile.

“You don’t even know my name!” The play ground taunt of so long