Work Text:
Why in the gorram hell don’t it ever go smooth?
“Okay, darlin’,” he says, ducking round the corner ‘fore folks can start shooting, tugging River along in his wake, “time for plan B.”
She frowns, her pretty little face crinkling up at him. “I’m unfamiliar with the request.”
“You’re plan B. Lotta times you’re plan A too, come to think of it. And most of plan C.”
“Your plans lack variety, Malcolm.”
“Don’t need ‘em to be varied, not when they’re good as you,” he says, and catches her smile right before she kisses him, feather-light, and goes to work.