Disclaimer: All of Firefly belongs to Joss Whedon

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And to think this all began with a good punch to a dandy’s face and a “s’what?”… Mal is alone in one of Atherton Wing’s plush accommodations, set up for the night so he won’t run off. He wouldn’t run off anyway, he had decided that when he first threw the punch. The problem was, why did he think that? Put simply, he did it to defend Inara’s honor, but then again, how much honor did she have to begin with. She was a companion, and that was something Mal had not time for, because above all, companions are liars: They lie to their clients, making them feel special and loved for a fee, and they lie to themselves, by saying in the end, it doesn’t really matter to them. Well at least Inara is that way. He can see the lies in her eyes as she returns from an engagement, and her fears for her, because he can see those lies are replacing her, who she is, the woman he admires. He has as sword and he’s making quite the fool of himself, throwing himself about the chamber, swinging at an invisible Atherton. He doesn’t even want to think about her right now. Now all he should be concentrated on surviving the next twenty four hours. He swings one more, this time with more strength. The sword makes a neat sound of vibrating metal. He can’t stand the thought of what she could be doing with Atherton right now. He’s put his life in danger for her, and she sleeps with the man anyway. And this isn’t the first time she’s treated him in this manner. He knows he has trouble voicing his thoughts. It’s one of his major flaws, though he’d never admit it. So he tries to let her know how he feels in other ways, and he can see in her eyes that she knows what he’s doing, yet she continues on…companioning! He gives the sword a couple more callous swings. Why the hell is he doing this. She’s made it quite clear how she feels about him…. Well actually she hasn’t…. Is this his way of proving himself to her, he can finally hear something from her either way. God, this is ridiculous: he’s mooring over a woman, at a time like this! He goes back to the sword play; by now his invisible Atherton is reduced to a diced-up pile. Of course that probably won’t reflect what will actually happen. More than likely, he’ll be the diced up pile. He lets the sword fall for a moment and runs a hand through his hair. That’s it. He has to make some things known tonight. He may very well die in the morning and he’s gonna have the last word. He’s gonna tell her something, he doesn’t know what it will be yet or how it will come to happen but— “Mal.” He tries to stifle his voice, but his immediate reaction to whip to the source of the voice and in doing so; he plants his sword in the pillar. She’s there, he never heard to door open. Impeccable timing. “What are you doing here,” he asks her oddly. It may have something to do with the fact that he had just been thinking about her, intently. She lets herself in. “Atherton’s a heavy sleeper, night before a big day,” she says. “He’s got a killing in the morning, then a haircut later.”