Kaylee had insisted that all the decorations in the mess stay up until the twelfth day of Christmas. Amidst a barrage of grumps, grumbles and River referring to him as Cap’n Grinch, he’d relented, with the proviso that come Jan. 7, there had best not be one scrap of tinsel visible on his boat.

What the gorram hell was a Grinch anyway? Surely didn’t sound like anything good, but with River, it was hard to know for certain. Either way, the day was almost over and there was still tinsel strewn about from the ceiling. Truth be told, though, given this past year, Mal just didn’t have the heart to hunt Kaylee down and make her restore his mess to normal.

‘sides, with his luck, he’d prolly interrupt her and the doc playing Jingle Bells.

Nope, best just to finish off the last of the mulled wine Jayne had made up and wait until things returned to their usual controlled chaos tomorrow. And maybe, just maybe, he might get himself good and stewed enough to ignore the voices whispering inside his head.

In particular, the loudest one, telling him it was time to own up to Inara about…

What?

That he’d been utterly moonbrained for her since the day she floated onto his boat?

That he’d lost more sleep than he cared to say to exceedingly detailed and vivid dreams about her?

That he’d not survive her leaving again.

Problem was, there was not enough alcohol in the ‘verse to get him that drunk, so that he’d live with himself if she decided to leave again.

And then seeing her there, leaning over the catwalk railing just outside her shuttle, he knew he was far too sober for the thoughts running through his head. Or for the unguarded smile she gave him. And he was especially nowhere near sloshed enough for that shortie satin kimono she was wearing.

He felt for the small wrapped package in his pocket. He’d been hoping she’d be abed and he could just leave it outside her door. He’d been too self-conscious to give it to her proper for Christmas. Tho’ fair was fair, as she’d not gotten him anything.

Nope, he was gonna have to face this stone-cold sober. And if that wasn’t a thought fit to drive a man to drink, he didn’t know what was.

“Hello, Mal. On your walkabout?” She knew his habits well enough to be aware that he never went to bed without doing one final lone walkabout of his ship.

“Yep, Walking off the last of that fine holiday supper Jayne prepared. Who knew the man could cook like that?”

“Our merc is a man of hidden talents.”

“Gotta admire a man who can cook up the very bird he just shot outta the sky.”

She straightened up suddenly, making the material of her robe shift in ways that Mal knew he should not be paying such close attention to.

“I almost forgot! I have a belated Christmas gift for you, Mal.” She put a gentle hand to his shoulder.

She disappeared inside the open door to the shuttle. Mal’s pulse was pounding in time to the sway of her well-rounded backside as he watched her vanish. How in the name of Creation did she manage to make him feel 15 and a virgin all over again?

Suddenly, her head appeared back in the doorway. “Mal, I said I had a gift for you. Don’t you want to see what it is?”

Nope, he was nowhere near drunk enough for any of this.

He found her seated on the couch, a brightly wrapped package on the low table in front of her. She indicated for him to sit down.

“Aw hell, Inara. Which, reminds me…” He fished out her gift from his pocket and set it down next to the other package.

She carefully unwrapped the silver paper to find a set of hand-carved hairsticks.

“Oh, they are beautiful!” She ran a finger over the tiny roses along the length of each stick. ‘Where did you get these?”

Mal flushed. “Made ‘em myself. One of the ranch hands when I was a boy taught me how to whittle.”

She piled her hair up and anchored it with the sticks. It gave Mal the overwhelming urge to pull them back out, just to have those curls and waves fall into his hands.

“How do they look?”

The words fell out of his mouth, despite his best efforts. “Ya look every inch the lady.”

She cocked her head at him. “Well, perhaps Christmas miracles do occur. I do believe, Mal, that is the first time you have ever called me a lady and sounded sincere about it.”

“You really are a lady. Who deserves better than some scruffy ex-soldier.”

Maybe he actually was more drunk than he thought.

“So you want me to leave again?”

In for a penny, in for a pound, Reynolds.

“Know what today is, Miss Serra?”

She shook her head, confused.

“Today is the Epiphany. Otherwise known as the twelfth day of Christmas. And on this day, I’ve had myself one – an epiphany, that is. A sudden realization of truth.”

“Which is?”

He scooted toward her just a bit. Enough to get a whiff of her night-blooming jasmine scent and have it render him completely reckless.

“That I don’t want you to leave Serenity. Or…uhhhmmm….me.”

His bravery petered out at that exact moment. Already said too much, given too much away.

Inara leaned forward, and Mal knew of a certainty he was indeed that drunk. On her.

“Then ask me to stay.”

He took hold of her hands – the one part of her he dared actually touch, lest he completely lose control and step out of bounds.

“We’ve lost…I’ve lost so much these last few weeks. Book. Wash. Even Mr. Universe, creepifyin’ as he was. Can’t lose much more, Inara. ‘sall I got, is this here rustbucket of a boat that I’m tryin’ to make a home. But it ain’t one without you. I ain’t at home without you. Damn near killed me last time ya left. Can’t lose ya again. So I’m askin’ ya, one last time to stay.”

She laid a hand on his cheek, and Mal realized he was frozen, holding his breath, afraid to move.

“I read somewhere it’s bad luck to kill the captain. So I suppose I’ll have to stay.”

Mal reached up and gently tugged on the hairsticks, causing her hair to cascade down into his hands. He pulled her in close.

“’sides, I ain’t lettin’ Zoe have the boat that easy.”