Author's Note: Getting this in on the last day of the challenge: Ficlet for the LJ ff_friday challenge. July 3's subject: games. Length: 768 words. SPOILERS FOR "HEART OF GOLD." I already tried tackling this subject in my other fic Take Me Somewhere New, but this is a sequel to that.

fèi huà = garbage/nonsense

tìan xiâo de = God knows

dong ma? = understand?

hâo le ma = that's enough, okay? (thanks to TaraLJC's Mandarin primer)

Truthsome

By Trisana McGraw

Mal had had it with that stuck-up, thinks-she-knows-every-gorram-thing-in-the-`verse liar (because "Companion" was just a pretty name to cover up her dirty work). What right did she have to be angry with him when he'd succumbed to temptation? It wasn't as if she invited him into her "sacred space" — which belonged to him, actually — to do anything more than discuss business.

And now she was leaving, huh? He knew her well enough to know that it was an empty threat; she'd mentioned leaving Serenity more than once, and every time she'd stayed with some half-assed remark about "Oh, the offer wasn't enough to take me away from here."

Kinda like Jayne with the jobs, actually, but Mal refused to follow that parallel anywhere else.

He thought he knew her well enough; then one morning she approached him and asked if he would set a course for Sihnon. His mouth dry, he'd told Wash to do so, which threw the entire ship into uproar. Even as Kaylee pleaded and Simon looked suddenly interested by the prospect of going somewhere rather than Serenity, Mal knew what he had to do. What he wanted to do, because, though he'd never admit, he'd hate to lose her beautiful face and sweet voice.

He'd already tried the gentle approach, trying to coax her feelings into revealing themselves. Her response had been like a slap in the face, and her decision to set the course — as if they all bent to her whim, for another thing — made it ache like a live wound. He'd remained patient and had visited her one night, again going for the soulful, "I want you to stay here" approach. He thought he'd made some headway, but over the next few mornings there was no change in course.

Malcolm Reynolds was a man on a mission; she'd had her chance for him to be peaceful. No more Mister Nice Captain. Inara needed convincing, and flowery words weren't gonna cut it. It was time to bring out the big guns.

He stormed into her shuttle and flung open the door, startling her out of pouring some tea. She barely managed to replace the teapot without shattering it while standing up to indignantly demand, "What —"

"No, you're not gonna speak," Mal cut her off, and she just stood there, mouth hanging slightly open before she remembered to close it. "I don't want you giving me any more fèi huà explanations about why you're leavin'.

"You think this is a game, doncha?" he asked, and her eyes darkened. "Stringing me along all this time, bein' friendly one day and switchin' to 'business' the next."

"I never —" she started, but he interrupted her again, not about to back down now.

"Don't think I'm stupid, that I haven't noticed that; I got more brains than you'd like to think. Things were startin' to make sense a few days ago; then you decided you're gonna leave, for no better reason than you got jealous when I bedded someone else. So I tried, Inara, I tried to make you understand. But you keep playin' with me, makin' me think that maybe you'll stay, but you never do. Tìan xiâo de why I've put up with all that.

"I don't understand you; actually, I don't understand most women, but you're the worst. All the games are gonna end. I want you to stay here, but we're gonna be honest from now on. No more pussy-footin', dong ma?"

"Hâo le ma?" she said, her voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She closed the space between them and pressed her lips to his. Mal made a surprised sound but forgot to protest when she deepened the kiss, reaching her arms to wrap around his neck. His arms went around her waist as if they fit there all along. Everything about the kiss was sweet: the soft skin of her back not covered by her outfit; the silky shawl wrapped around him to keep him from escaping; her hair brushing against his cheek; and her smooth lips.

Mal finally gained enough control to pull back an inch. She was panting, her eyes wide, and he figured he looked pretty much the same. "This better not be another one of your games," he gasped, "makin' me think things that aren't true."

"It's not, you idiot," she answered, her eyes overbright. "What you said just now . . . That was all I needed to hear."

"Huh," he replied with a strained laugh, bringing her mouth to his again. For once, he'd won, and victory had never tasted sweeter.