(Although I've been writing Firefly fanfiction for over a year, I've never posted here before, since most of my stories are archived at my own website. But as Simon said in "Safe," I'm trying something new. This is my most recent story.)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction.  No infringement is intended on the rights of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, or 20th Century Fox TV. 

No archiving, please.

Feedback welcome. Thanks.

A missing scene from "Trash." For the big score, you need all your players.

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In the Game by HawkMoth

Here they stood yet again, facing each other across a line that had been erased and redrawn more times than Inara cared to count. This was far from civilized discourse. It was low, mean and petty. They both knew it, and neither one of them could help it. The crushing inevitability of it tore at her heart.

"Maybe you shoulda stuck with your wiles," Mal said in that softly dangerous tone that simultaneously thrilled and frightened her. He smiled coldly, convinced he'd had the last word as he turned and walked away.

It was his standard method of ending an argument, and she was sick of it. "Don't put this all on me, Mal," she called out, struggling to keep her voice under control. When he swung back to face her, she persisted. "You know you haven't been after serious work in a--"

"Serious work?" He stepped forward and raised an accusatory finger. "You wanna know what--if--I--" His mouth snapped shut and he glared at her, looking stung and smug all at once.

She suddenly recalled something he'd said before things had gotten truly heated, and realized this wasn't simply about them. Some other conflict was simmering inside his head. "What?"

His expression grew wary. "Nothing."

Inara was convinced he was going to storm off, but he stood his ground as if daring her to challenge him again. She held her tongue, though, feeling as weary of their bickering as he now looked. For a few moments they held each other's gaze, maintaining an uneasy silence. Then Mal lowered his head and turned, but not towards the door. Instead, he took a seat again on the edge of the sofa.

She walked around the table with measured steps and resumed her own place. Without a word she offered him a cup of tea. He accepted and took a cautious sip, watching her over the rim of the cup.

"Nice," he finally allowed with a faint smile before drinking some more.

"Thank you."

He held the cup out and she refilled it. Then he leaned back with a small sigh, and it pleased her that he could let himself relax in her presence. She sensed his need to talk, but she wasn't going to push it and risk being accused of "wiles" again.

However, in his own way Mal could be equally astute. He acknowledged her continued silence with a raised eyebrow, then took another sip of tea before he finally unburdened himself. "Hell of a day."

"So I gather. What happened? Did something go wrong on the drop?"

He shook his head. "Not...exactly. There was just a slight change in plans, is all. We, uh, picked up a passenger."

"A passenger?" From a smugglers' meet in the middle of nowhere? That was disturbing on too many levels. "Mal, is that--wise, given our circumstances with Simon and River?"

"I've been questioning the wisdom of it myself, Inara, but it was the best of a bunch of limited options, though I may yet regret it...and 'passenger' might not be the right word, not exactly. As a rule, I don't stick paying fares in a crate full of food packets."

Now he'd really lost her. "Mal, what are you talking about?"

He carefully set the cup on the table, trying to avoid her gaze. "It's, um, Saffron."

She couldn't have heard him right. "Dear God, it's finally happened. You've snapped."

His eyes went wide with genuine hurt. "Hey now--"

"You've gone right over the edge! How could you allow that wuneng de ren back on this ship?" she demanded.

"I already said--I didn't have much of a choice!" He smacked his palm against the tabletop. "I'd rather have her where I can keep her on a tight rein instead of running wild through the galaxy causin' who knows what kind of misery to innocent folk."

Inara leaned forward, still furious. "Oh, fine! Meanwhile, she's stuffed in a crate thinking up all sorts of ways to cause us misery. Honestly, Mal--how could you?"

"The crate part was her idea," he said with an evil grin. "And it does, for the time being, keep her at our mercy and out of the way while we make plans."

It did paint a lovely picture of payback, and Inara found herself almost smiling in return. "Plans for what?"

"On how to work this out to our best advantage. She offered me a deal--says she's got the inside track on what could be a million-square job."

She couldn't help but wonder what else the little pofu had offered him. "And you believed her?"

"Well--" Mal shrugged, glancing at the floor, then the drapes over their heads before meeting her dubious gaze. "She's got something brewin', that's for damn sure, if she went to the trouble of getting herself hitched to old Monty--"

"Monty?!" This was getting entirely too absurd. "The poor man--oh, and you showing up ruined that little scheme. Let me guess--Monty dumped her, so you were left holding the--"

He quickly raised one hand. "Whoa--don't be going there. Only thing that matters at this moment is that she ain't in a position to seduce nobody."

Inara lowered her head and busied herself with the tea things. "Not that she didn't try," she murmured under her breath.

"Whatever," Mal muttered with equal peevishness.

"Well, this certainly does explain your foul mood," Inara said, sitting back with her arms crossed. "And what does the crew think about this latest development?"

He was silent, gnawing on a thumbnail.

"You haven't told them," she said flatly.

His eyes were downcast. "Told Zoe..."

"And me, which is such an honor, I assure you. What did Zoe say?"

"Well, she was a mite perturbed, and I've left her the unpleasant task of informing the others."

Inara put a hand to her head. "It's a wise captain who delegates," she sniped wearily.

Mal's eyes went cold and he leaned across the table, pointing furiously at her again. "Look, I'm making plans, and I ain't worked out all the details yet. But we can play her, Inara," he insisted. "Beat her at her own game. And if she ain't lying--well, it's the kind of opportunity that'll never come along again, not in a million years."

"Money and revenge."

His smile was deadly, in more ways than one. "Yeah, got a nice poetical ring to it, don't it?"

As long as it wasn't the sort of epic poem where all the heroes died in the end, she thought, biting her lip. But it was the sort of risk Mal could never resist taking. And there could only be one reason he was telling her all this. "You said we can play her. Does that mean I get to be in the gang for this job?"

He reached for his cup, and took a long sip before answering. "If you want," he said, sounding a little too indifferent.

It was possible he had meant to ask her all along, but perhaps the notion had occurred to him on the midst of their fight. Either way, there was too much at stake for her to refuse. She picked up her own cup, mirroring his studied casualness. "Fine. What part do I get to play?"

"The usual," he said, his mouth curved in a sly smile. "The voice of outrage and reason. And when the right moment comes, I know you'll play it beautifully."

It was his usual sort of backhanded compliment. Honey wrapped up in gall. Inara didn't know whether she wanted to slap the infuriating smirk off his face or kiss it away. "Now who's using wiles?" she retorted quickly, shaking off the urgent desire to touch him one way or another.

Fortunately, he seemed too wrapped up in his scheming to notice the full extent of her reaction. "This is gonna require all the ammo we've got, Inara," he said earnestly. "You'll also be providin' back-up, because we both know that cold-hearted little snake will try to double-cross us first, second and third chance she gets. You've got to be ready for anything."

"Hmph. She'll know better than to try to play me again."

Suddenly he reached out and grabbed her hand, throwing her off balance again. "Inara, I mean it. The way I'm thinking, you'll have to be gone, like you've flown off to meet a client. But you'll really be parked somewhere safe, waiting for instructions." His fingers moved to intertwine with hers, more a gesture of warning than tenderness. "If I can't get a signal through to you, well, then--you'll be hearing from Zoe."

A chill gripped her heart as she realized what he was saying. "Mal--"

"And you'll go armed," he went on, right over her protest, "with that pretty little piece you smuggled on board the day you moved in."

Inara gasped. She'd never let anyone, not even Kaylee, know about the small but efficient weapon she kept well hidden but always ready. "You son of a bitch," she hissed, snatching her hand back as if burned. "You went through my things!"

"I did what any good captain would, to ensure the safety of his crew," Mal replied coldly, unmoved by her furious indignation. "And I imagine you handle that weapon right well. So I have got to know--that if you have to, you won't hesitate to kill Saffron to keep this crew safe."

"You--you know I wouldn't," she said, trying not to let her voice tremble as conflicting desires tore at her again, trying to ignore the thought that rose unbidden in her mind. If she's killed you, Mal, I'd do it in a heartbeat. She was relieved that she couldn't read what was in his eyes as he nodded slowly and got to his feet.

"All right, then." He let a moment pass in silence before dismissing the issue with a soft snort. "We play this right, it won't come to that juncture. Keeping the loot for ourselves and getting Saffron pinched will be a right satisfactory outcome."

"Yes," she agreed with a faint smile, attempting to match his offhand confidence as she stood up, smoothing her skirt. For better or worse, she was in the game, and would see it through with him to the end.

He rubbed his hands together, as if in anticipation. "Well, much as I'd prefer the contrary, I'd best go let Saffron out of her crate and hear her tale."

Inara nodded, unsure of what she could trust herself to say to him. There was much more at risk here than playing Saffron, but not yet enough trust between them to play for higher stakes.

She let him get halfway to the door before calling to him. "Mal--"

He turned, one eyebrow raised.

"I won't waste my breath telling you to be careful."

"'Course you won't," Mal said with an all-too-knowing smile. "Don't worry--we'll do this thing."

"Of course." She turned away, certain he wasn't looking back as he walked out the door. He had said it would be done, and it would.

"Be careful, you idiot," she whispered, then went to fetch her gun.

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