Mal awoke early, out of habit. First one up, last one to bed.

Except it wasn't his bed. His bed had never been graced by satin sheets. Neither was it big enough for two people. Not that it had ever held two people.

Well, except for that near-miss with his almost-wife.

Nope, very clearly her bed. In her shuttle, despite his numerous protestations to the contrary. It has been Her Shuttle from the day she fluttered those eyelashes at him and bargined him down on the rent. Even when she was gone, Mal has been painfully aware that it was still her space.

And she had allowed him in her space. In her bed. And ultimately, between her legs. Several times over, even. Did the time she rode him count? Mal supposed it most likely did.

She'd told him once she'd not service the crew. Not take coin in exchange for the things they had done last night.

And in the strictest sense, she was right. He did not feel the least damnable bit 'serviced.' At least not the way all the others were.

But Mal was also a practical man. Nothing comes without a price. Not even taking the tumble with her.

All it meant was that he'd have to pay coin of a different kind.