(Although I've been writing Firefly fanfiction for over a year, I've never posted here before, since most of my stories are archived at my own website. But as Simon said in "Safe," I'm trying something new. This is my most recent story.)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction.  No infringement is intended on the rights of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, or 20th Century Fox TV. 

No archiving, please.

Feedback welcome. Thanks.

A missing scene from "Trash." For the big score, you need all your players.

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In the Game

by HawkMoth

Here they stood yet again, facing each other across a line that had been erased and redrawn more times than Inara cared to count. This was far from civilized discourse. It was low, mean and petty. They both knew it, and neither one of them could help it. The crushing inevitability of it tore at her heart.

"Maybe you shoulda stuck with your wiles," Mal said in that softly dangerous tone that simultaneously thrilled and frightened her. He smiled coldly, convinced he'd had the last word as he turned and walked away.

It was his standard method of ending an argument, and she was sick of it. "Don't put this all on me, Mal," she called out, struggling to keep her voice under control. When he swung back to face her, she persisted. "You know you haven't been after serious work in a--"

"Serious work?" He stepped forward and raised an accusatory finger. "You wanna know what--if--I--" His mouth snapped shut and he glared at her, looking stung and smug all at once.

She suddenly recalled something he'd said before things had gotten truly heated, and realized this wasn't simply about them. Some other conflict was simmering inside his head. "What?"

His expression grew wary. "Nothing."

Inara was convinced he was going to storm off, but he stood his ground as if daring her to challenge him again. She held her tongue, though, feeling as weary of their bickering as he now looked. For a few moments they held each other's gaze, maintaining