Yup, so this bit of fluffernutter crept in my head and refused to leave until I put it out here. So enjoy, and leave somethin' if you feel so inclined. -------------------------------------------------- The man wore suspenders.

She never thought she could love a man with such terrible taste. Then again, she never thought she would admit to loving a man like Malcom Renoylds either.

"So, we're going to have to leave Persephone a day early," he announced, barging into her shuttle and scaring her so badly she almost dropped the delicate teacup in her hand.

"Excuse me?" she snaps, slamming down the cup in a most unladylike fit of anger. "Mal, you can't keep doing this to me! I have-"

"To keep up your whoring, I know." he holds up a hand. "But I'm going to make it up to you"

Her mouth hangs agape, stunned as she is by this revelation. "You're going to what?"

"Make it up to you. Ain't fair you always havin' to leave your high-class shindigs 'for you even get there." He leans in closer, hooking his thumbs through those dammable suspenders. "Dress to impress, 'Nara. Dinner's in an hour."

Before she can reply, he's striding out of her shuttle in that damn self-confident way he has, whistling carelessly to add insult to injury. She counts to ten before moving, since screaming at the top of her lungs would only give him the satisfaction of knowing he's gotten to her. Moving to her cortex, she signals the client she was supposed to see that evening.

You want to dance, Malcom Renyolds? She thinks nastily to herself behind a beautific smile. Well, it takes two to tango. -------------------------------------------------

He cleans up real nice, snapping the red suspenders on his chest with a smile of satisfaction. He is a smartly dressed man, he thinks, for being in the black and all. He throws on a black jacket, one he only pulls out for special occasions or jobs that warrant a nattily dressed captain. More often the latter though, he frowns. Tying a red cravat loosely under his collar, he gives himself an appreciative look in the small mirror hanging on the wall of his bunk. Gorram woman ain't even gonna know what hit her.

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She reaches deep into the redwood chest, removes a package wrapped in fine smelling tissue paper. Never thought she'd ever have the occasion to wear it. Undoing the paper she removes a length of ebony fabric. Shaking it out, it's revealed as a dress with enough slink that even Zoe would be jelous of. A wide smile crosses her face as she looks at the daring neckline. If Mal wants to play games, fine. You don't play a player. Draping the slinky dress over her dressing screen, she allows herself another evil grin as she watches the tiny crystals catch and throw the light. Oh yes, Malcom Reynolds was in for it. Whistling quietly to herself, she heads to the shower.

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Mal paces the cargo bay anxiously, snapping his fancy suspenders absently. Maybe his little scheme hadn't been such a good idea after all. Maybe she'd thought he was kidding. Maybe she really was mad. Maybe she wasn't going to come at all-

His diatribe is cut short as he hears her soft tread on the catwalk above him. Looking up, all the breath leaves his body like a punch to the solar plexus. She's wearing a shiny black dress that pretty much embodies the word slink. Very little's left to the imagination there, a little voice says in the back of his mind, and he has to agree. Her hair is piled on her head and studded with black pearls, and she's done something with her face paints so her eyes look darker, more mysterious. She stands in front of him, somehow he'd missed the rest of her walk while he stared, a slight smile on her ruby-red lips.

"Well Mal, are you going to say anything?"

He can smell her perfume, a musk that makes his head spin. "You look..." he racks his brain, "Ravishing."

She has to force back the smile that threatens to overrun her face with all the might of her Companion training. Now there was one she hadn't heard. Mal was still staring, the poor man. It just wasn't fair, was it? She decides to throw him a line.

"Do we have plans that don't include standing in the cargo bay all evening?"

That seems to snap him out of his thoughts. "Uh, right, plans." He slaps the controls that open the cargo bay doors, and a rush of air ruffles her hair as they open. She has to wait as her eyes adjust to the darkness oustide, and when they do, she still has to blink several times before she believes what she is seeing.

Serenity had set down near a small clearing. Tiny lights glimmered in the trees, and upon closer inspection she sees that they are tiny candles in glass jars. A table sits in the middle of the clearing, covered with a white linen table cloth and two glowing tapers. Somehow, the strains of music reaches her ears on the breeze. For the first time in her life, Inara Serra is speechless.

Mal watches her face anxiously. "Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful!" He rewards her with the most brilliant smile she's seen since Miranda from any of the crew, and an arm. She delicately places her hand on his elbow and allows him to escort her to the table. He pulls out the chair for her like a true gentleman, and she sits as gracefully as if she were at a state dinner. Looking down, she notices that the china and glasses look suspiciously like the reserves she keeps hidden under her bed. The silverware is set backwards, but obviously with some effort. She forces back another smile, and Mal mistakes it for anger.

"I had Kaylee borrow your plates," he explains quickly. "Didn't want to be using Serenity's banged up stuff."

"No, no, it's fine." She looks around. "Did you do this all yourself?"

"Mostly. I got Jayne to help with the lights."

"It really is beautiful Mal."

"I suppose you must be hungry," Mal picks up the small radio on the table that is piping in the music. "Jayne?"

"Comin' Mal." Comes the disgruntled reply, followed by a crash and several words that are not at all appropriate for the occasion. A frown creases Mal's face, but he manages to keep himself in check. A few awkward minutes later, Jayne comes stomping down the ramp. Inara looks up from the napkin she has been folding in her lap and laughs out loud. Somehow, Mal has forced the mercenary into wearing a fancy suit, apparently after making him shower and shave. He is carrying a white towel over one arm, and is trying to balance a silver tray on one hand. Finally he gives up and just carries the tray, stomping up to the table with a black look on his face. He stops next to Inara, Mal looking at him expectantly. The big man gives him a martyr's sigh.

"Welcome to Chez Mal, my name is Jayne and I will be your server tonight. Our first course is some fancy-schmancy pasta thing, please don't hestitate to ask if you need anything." He gives Mal a look that clearly means "Don't ask", slamming the plates down in front of each of them before storming back to the ship.

Inara stares at Mal, completly stunned. He grins back at her, much like a cat that has eaten the proverbial canary. Finally she trusts herself to speak.

"You made Jayne...a waiter?"

"He owes me one."

She can only shake her head. Looking down she asks, "What is this?"

"Chicken alfredo." He looks like a little boy, excited and eager to please. "I made it."

"You made food." Inara literally cannot believe this is the same man who she trades barbs with every day.

"Yeah. Well, Simon helped. Actually turns out that Prissy knows a little about the culinary arts. Try it!"

He looks on expectantly as she hesitantly takes a bite, chewing carefully. "So?"

"It's really...good!" She takes another bite. "And it's real food! How did-"

"A chef never tells his secrets." Satisfied, Mal tears into his own food. "There was supposed to be bread, but something about high atmo didn't agree with it."

Surprisingly, the rest of the meal goes off without a hitch. Jayne delivers the next course with considerably more decorum, something Mal attributes to the ministrations of Kaylee, who he can see peeking around the corner of the door every few minutes or so. Gorram crew can't give them any alone time. After finishing the salad with fresh vegatbles that nearly make Inara cry when she tastes them, the previously (and unexpectedly) vivacious conversation grinds to an halt.

"So, why all this Mal?" Inara asks, sweeping her hand about the clearing. "Though I must admit, this is one of the best evenings I've had in...well, quite a while." She gives him a genuine smile, and is rewarded with a rougish grin.

"Not quite over yet bao-bei." He stands and offers her a hand, and she decides to let the name slide. Unfolding herself from the chair, she groans.

"I've eaten too much. I don't think I can move!"

Mal looks shocked. "That's not a very lady-like thing to say now, is it?"

"Well then it's a good thing that I'm not in the presence of a gentleman, isn't it?" She takes his hand and giggles a little at the hurt look on his face. A giggle? She must have had too much of that rich wine that had materialized before the second course. Before she can stop herself she plants a kiss on his cheek. "You do try though Mal."

She swears he blushes before he twirls her about. Reaching over he turns up the volume on the small radio that had been providing their music throughout the evening. "Miz Serra, will you dance with a poor lil' unculturated Captain such as myself?"

"Can't see that I have much choice in the matter," she laughs as she is spun about again and pulled close. A few minutes later she looks up at him admiringly. "Malcom Reynolds, I didn't know you really knew how to dance."

"Ma always told me a man should know three things: how to sit a horse, how to please a woman, and how to dance."

Inara nods sagely. "Seems there's a lot I don't know about you Mal." The song swells to its end, and Mal dips Inara backwards theatrically, holds her there, staring into her eyes with a new sort of intensity.

"There's plenty to find out," he says huskily, and Inara finds herself clinging to those dammable suspenders as she recieves the most passionate and heartfelt kiss she's ever had in her life.

Ai ya women wanle, she thinks, but maybe these suspenders are good for something after all.

-------------------------------------------------- Ai ya women walnle -we are in serious trouble