I own nothing.AN:
I'm not entirely sure if this counts as AU, but you can think of it that way if it helps you sleep at night. And if you can't tell who Liam and Anne are you shouldn't be allowed.
Mal enters the dinning room, greets Mrs. Summers – “Anne,” she tells him, “call me Anne.” – who sits with a mug of anonymous-hot-drink, and is about to retrieve snackables when things seem to slide into focus and he realizes there is an easel set up at the end of the room.
Now what in the…
Ah. ‘Course. Mr. Summers bein’ a painter and such.
A painter who is like as not to get said paint ‘cross his floor and get his captainly-self an earful from tetchy females on the subject of housekeeping.
He’s about to say something further when a band of warm steel closes about his upper arm. He looks down at Mrs. Summers who glowers back up at him with green eyes that laser holes in his skull and freeze certain vital organs.
Or attempts to, at any rate.
Mrs. Summers gives him the fish-eye and mutters, scoldingly, “Don’t you dare say a thing, Malcolm Reynolds. He hasn’t painted properly in months
! If something about being on this boat brings it out in him, I’m not going to let you screw it up, dong ma
“Sung’ing da madda?” a voice inquires.
Both look over to see Liam peering over his canvas at them, no less than three paintbrushes clenched in his teeth. There is a multi-coloured smudge across his left cheek and another down his nose. He raises one eyebrow at them.
Mal clears his throat. “Uh, nope, nuthin’ at all…I was just goin’ up t’ the bridge…to see Wash…about captain stuff…I’ll be flee – going now.”
Exit the captain at high speed, apparently chased by an invisible bear.
“Maybe he has rabies,” says Buffy.
Angel blinks at his wife. “What…?”
“I told you people on spaceships were all nuts,” she says smugly.AN:
Maybe my beta is just easily confused, but so you know, "Sung'ing da madda?" is what "Something the matter?" sounds like with paintbrushes in your mouth. Trust me on this.