Wash It First
"Are you insane?"
"Near abouts," Mal said.
"What were you thinking? She's my wife, Mal!"
"Zoe is my wife!"
Mal raised an eyebrow. "I know that."
"Yet you still went and did...that!"
Mal crossed his arms across his chest and frowned. "You're talking about the undercover op?"
"What else?" Wash glared at him and mirrored his actions.
"Zoe told me you'd overreact. Conjure she was right." He dragged a hand through his hair.
Wash glared some more.
"Weren't Zoe who pretended to be my wife anyhow. Plan changed."
Confusion replaced the glare. "What? How?"
"I found an...alternative wife." Mal shrugged, his face flushing slightly.
Mal shook his head.
"River?" Wash asked. "No, wait. Inara? You and Inara?" He tilted his head to the side as if in shock that Inara would really go for that plan.
"How'd you convince her to do that?" he asked. "Did you wash your arm? Zoe told me about the arm washing thing. Quite reasonable, I'd think. Not nobody likes to go about on the arm of someone whose arm is a dirty arm."
Mal opened his mouth and then closed it again. He repeated the action and then he turned to leave, shaking his head in disbelief.
"It's a whole hygiene thing. I don't know. But it's about time," Wash said, "that you go and get your own wife. Without the psycho killer thing, I mean. That there was a thing I could've happily gone without. Mal?" Wash stared after Mal as he disappeared up the hall. "Could really have gone without that," he added.