Work Text:
“Not as funny as you think you are, little one,” Mal says, eyes narrowed against his co-pilot, sitting there across from him staring out at the sky like she didn’t just deliver a mortal blow to a man.
“Sense of humor is subjective,” she says, not paying him no nevermind, far as he can tell, “so I am exactly as funny as I think I am - no other measurement makes sense.”
“Fine,” he says, after opening and closing his mouth a few too many times for comfort, cause he ain’t about to try to argue with her when she’s got that kind of logic by the tail, “but let’s get one thing straight, me and you - my ship does not like you better’n me, and that’s that.”