Looking back, Mal could only offer to himself that age-old excuse all males have when recounting youthful hijinks that perhaps did not end quite as planned: Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Which, really, didn’t lessen the embarrassment, the humiliation or, for that matter, the weeks of rude comments Jayne would surely have handy. Or the doc’s sarcasm or – perhaps deadliest of all – that arched right eyebrow from Zoe. Just one eyebrow. Quirked upward no more than a few millimeters. But oh, so devastating. Mal suspected that poor Wash had been on the receiving end of that right eyebrow more than a few times. Sadly, with Wash gone, it was instead Mal’s turn in the barrel.

The whole thing had started so innocently, really. Don’t they just all, Reynolds? He had wanted to surprise Inara for their three-month anniversary. Something special, something different, something she’d never forget. And most importantly, something the rest of the crew wouldn’t find out about, seeing as they had worked very hard to keep it between themselves for those first few heady Dear-Sweet-Baby-Jesus-what-are-we-doing months.

He’d managed three of the four.

The idea first came to him when he recalled an old army drinking song about two young girls playing a prank on a poor hapless Scotsman from Earth-That-Was. The punchline involved a silk blue ribbon tied around a certain part of the fellow’s anatomy. This was where the whole part about it seeming like a good idea at the time came into play.

He’d managed to score a decent-sized bottle of high-end sake, a dozen roses (11 pale peach and one red) and a small spherical cloisonne box, inside which was cleverly hidden two chocolate truffles. Best not to speculate on how, as the why was more important. He’d also kiped one of River’s numerous hair ribbons in the appropriate shade of blue.

Armed with all of this, the devious plan was hatched. He’d let himself into the shuttle with his access card and wait for her, holding the gifts. Wearing nothing but that ribbon, tied in the appropriate location.

Yep, plan was solid.

Up until the point where, in his haste to balance the booze, the flowers and the access card, he’d forgotten about that troublesome little box, as it rolled out of his pocket and halfway across the catwalk. Which, if he’d noticed right away, would not have been an issue. But amidst his bumping about, he didn’t hear it fall out.

So, into her shuttle. Clothing off. Sake on table. Flowers on bed. Ribbon tied where it needed to be. Box on nightsta…huh? Must’a fallen out onto the catwalk just outside or summat.

At this juncture, Mal realized he still could have salvaged the entire operation if he’d only thought to grab the keycard. Unfortunately, driven by a need to get everything in place before Inara’s imminent return, he had thought with the head currently sporting a pretty blue ribbon and forgotten to get it.

A fact of which he was reminded just as he heard the unmistakable click of the shuttle door closing behind him just as he reached down to grab the jewelry box. With his clothing on the other side of the now-locked door.

Thus, his current predicament. Naked as the day he came crying, save for that blue ribbon and nowhere to go hide his shame. At least it was a really big bow.

The second shuttle was not an option, as the same keycard that resided atop his pants opened both shuttle doors. And pretty much anywhere else he might make a break for would mean him encountering somebody else.

Then what seemed to be inspiration struck. The crew showers. If he could get there, he could at the very least hide behind the safety of a towel. Not perfect, but a sight better’n him just swinging in the breeze.

Whatever saint looked out for naked lovesick men must have been smiling upon him, as he actually managed to make it there without being seen. Now to just slip inside and…why was the gorram door locked? Somebody must be using the facilities. Just as Mal was weighing pounding on the door to be let in by one person versus the entire crew seeing him in his current predicament, the door flew open to reveal a still-damp but freshly barbered Jayne, towel wrapped around his waist. His back was to Mal as he called back into the shower area, “Hurry up there, moonbrain! Don’t want Cap’n Prissybritches to know what we’ve been…”

Jayne’s sentence trailed off as he finally turned around to face Mal. After a few moments of gaping like a fish, he finally found his voice. “Ribbon’s droopin’ just a bit.”

Mal could tell from Jayne’s tone that he had every intention of using this ammo for at least the next week. Deep breath.

“Well, Jayne. ‘pears I left my prissy britches elsewheres.”

Jayne just grinned wider.

“Surely does. In Inara’s shuttle, I’ll bet!”

“Right. So how’s about you and me, we make a mutually beneficial deal? You keep your piehole shut about seein’ me, and I’ll keep mine shut about you and the spooky teenage assassin back there. Deal?”

Mal was somewhat mollified that he’d managed to wipe the leer off Jayne’s mug before the bigger man mumbled an agreement. He reached out and clapped Jayne on the shoulder.

“Think of it as mutually assured destruction.”