Conversations in the low light: What happens when the captain's laundry follows you home and you're awake at an ungodly hour.

Rating- PG I think

Disclaimer- Come on folks, like, as if we don't know! Repeat after me, Joss made them and him and some other rich folk own it all, not me.... I don't even own a good computer I own a crappy old laptop with a dial-up connection.

Special thanks to 2x2 who did me the favor of being my beta on this fanfic.... Thanks so much...

A/n- not sure if the format is kinda too jumbled for some of you to read clearly, if so let me know. Also, know this is totally going to be Mal / Inara, and its post the BDM. Oh, and before I go and forget... yes the rating will go up for violence, language, and some situations with

references to sex and maybe more but I doubt it will ever be NC-17... herm :cough cough... enough said. Lets get to the reading folks!

Inara sat, folding her freshly washed clothes. She was thinking about what had happened earlier today, about how quickly Mal and herself had turned to fighting; about how easy it should have been to just tease him instead of fighting about his lack of tact when it came to her. Was it really so hard for him to be civil with her, and for honesty's sake she had ask her self why it was so hard for her to keep civil with him as well; she could not place all the blame on him , but she sure knew he shared a great deal of it.

Why did she care so much? And why did their words always come out slightly twisted?

She supposed the easiest and most utterly idiotic way to explain it was to say it was just their way- Naturally that thought left her dissatisfied. She'd over-reacted, been too sensitive about the whole thing because the situation had truly been personal to her.

Then, suddenly, she came across one of his shirts, her stomach doing summersaults as she picked it out from the basket on the floor.

"Damn," was the only word she could utter as she looked at the beat-up burgundy shirt. She straightened it, buttoned