Inara's birthday.

Usually, when Mal Reynolds achieves some sort of romantic notion, it comes out in terms of near-death experiences or otherwise completely accidentally.

This doesn't mean that he does not wish to try every once in awhile, and today seems to be as good a reason as any to do so.

"Mal, what did you do?" Inara's putting laundry away in a trunk when Mal is returning from Milliways. He lifts one arm and shows off a basket of enough food to not have to leave the shuttle for at least the day, unless they want to.

Completely innocently: "You still have that shimmer wine about?"


A couple mangoes and a bottle of wine later.

And some starfruit.

Okay, and some fried rice. For sustenance, dong ma?


"Mrph. Time for a nap."

"No nap for you, Mister Reynolds. Where's your stamina when I need it?"

Mal shifts onto his side, looking to his wife with one of the rarer emotions he gets to feel at any given point - complete calm and relaxation. And love. Oh, shi a, with her fingercurls and china-doll skin and the throwing knife Mal's pretty sure she doesn't know he knows about, strapped underneath the oversized bed in the shuttle.

"Wŏ ài nĭ."

Inara just smiles back, recognizing a truthsome moment when she sees one.

"What would you hope for more, when the opportunity presented itself?" Mal starts off slowly, "A boy or a girl?"

Inara's eyes go wide for a moment, then her smile widens. "What would you hope for more?"

"That they look like you."