Disclaimer: I do not own Firefly, or any of the characters therefrom. Joss Whedon, FOX and the studios that the BDM was filmed by do. More’s the pity, ‘cause if I did, I certainly wouldn’t let that be all there was.

Spoilers: Our Mrs. Reynolds—much of the dialogue for this story has been yoinked straight from that episode. Other than that, I’ve tried to explain everything in as close to my own words as possible.

All translations have been taken from the Serenity RPG manual. Cross-posted at my blog and on fanfiction.net.

“You guys don’t understand,” Captain Malcolm Reynolds protested as he staggered to his feet. Nearby, Simon was stowing his stethoscope in his bag and the Shepherd, Zoe, Wash and Inara had found places around the captain’s bunk.

“Seems pretty straightforward to me,” answered the Shepherd. “You were taking advantage--”

“I was the one being taken advantage of!” Mal shouted as he pulled on his left suspender.

“My apologies. You were victimized, Wash was beaten, and then Inara found you here.”

“Uh-And then I fell,” Inara interjected from Mal’s bed as she pointed to the floor. Mal thought her voice sounded different—maybe she was sleepy? “My head got hurt like Wash.”

“I don’t get any of this,” lamented the captain, ignoring the Companion on his bed for the moment.

“I only fell is all,” Inara persisted, slightly louder.

“No, you didn’t,” Simon answered her.

“How you know that, when you ain’t even examined her?” Zoe asked.

“No need.” The doctor stood and faced the captain, rubbing his face roughly with a cloth and backing away before Mal could even think to block the other man’s arm.

“Ow!” Mal protested. “What was that for?”

“The Good Night Kiss is tasteless,” Simon began as he lowered the handkerchief to his side.

“Yeah, so?”

“So, Captain, since the narcotic is tasteless, you should be able to tell me whether or not Saffron was wearing lipstick, which has a distinct flavor.”

Mal’s lips pursed as he tried to remember. “She wasn’t--not a smudge. But what’s that gotta do with anything?”

Simon brought his hand up to Mal’s eye level, showing him the side of the cloth—a snow-white handkerchief—with which he had wiped Mal’s face.

Mal peered at the fine white fabric. In the center, barely noticeable, was a patch of color. Mal couldn’t decide whether it was a light purple or a dusky pink, but he didn’t have to look at the woman on his bunk to know where it came from. “Huh,” he said, staring at the smudge. Suddenly, Inara's "sleepy" tone of voice made sense.

“What?” Wash asked from his position beside Zoe.

“Nothing to go crazy over,” Mal answered, filing the information away for a later, more private conversation. He grabbed the handkerchief from the doctor and pocketed it, deliberately not looking Inara’s way. Mal suddenly wondered why half of his crew was currently crowding his bunk and turned to Zoe.

“What the hell’s our status?”