((Nathaniel x Xander x Inara nonsense I thought up in the shower for no reason.))
   âWhy would you shave your body hair?!â Were Inaraâs first words when Nathaniel came in the door, before the poor man could even peel off his rain-drenched coat and hang it carefully over the drip tray(after, of course, moving the bra that definitely did not need to be on the drip tray hooks and before moving the soaked jeans - he didnât want to know - onto them). She was, unabashedly as ever, sprawled out on the PIâs couch, topless and wearing what could only be described as the absolute bare minimum requirements of Nathanielâs âpants on on the couchâ rule, holding a gaudy magazine.
   âYou know I hate it when you accidentally teach me things about Orlais,â he told her, tone half-committal as he stripped off his socks, his shirt -- anything that was wet enough to cause discomfort. If heâd been present in the moment, heâd have taken a little bit of pleasure in the way his actions caught Inaraâs attention so keenly, her gaze so intent youâd think he was the only thing in the room. But in his head, he was still in that office, watching Philip Coleman give his answers, over and over. Every time he lied, heâd tap twice on the table -- same as his poker tell, heâd learned from his âlendersâ.Â
   But how did he prove it?
   âStill. Who would let a person take a razor to their bits? Can you imagine when it starts growing back--â Sheâd gotten entirely too far into her tirade without so much as a disapproving glance from her partner. And she was talking about naughty bits. And Orlesians. âWhatâs wrong with you?â
   âThe Coleman case. Heâs lying. I canât figure out how to prove it.â Deflecting would only make her questions come quicker; she didnât let things go. And he was almost entirely certain that she read his case files when he wasnât looking.
   âYou want I should sleep with him? Ask him about it when heâs all up in there? Guys say all sorts of crazy shit when theyâre âbout to pop. Last time it was just me and Xander, he told me--â
   âI will cut out your tongue, you brazen harpy!â Xander was home.Â
   Anyway. âExcited utterances arenât admissable in court,â Nathaniel reminded Inara for the unsettling-number-th time.Â
   âWhat if I make him pay for it? The sex, I mean. Then you can threaten to either turn him in for prostitution if he wonât admit to... you know, whatever it is his wife or mistress or girlfriend is paying you to get him to admit to.â Her tone was dry; it was as close as Inara ever came to openly criticizing him, those bland statements and hard stares over the edge of a magazine.Â
   Nathaniel would have defended the integrity of his profession if he wasnât, in fact, working for the manâs wife. He frowned, and she smiled pleasantly. She was definitely reading his case files.Â
   âAnd if he turned you in for being a prostitute?â
   âLike Iâd tell him my name,â she snorted. Sheâd thought about this entirely too much. And somehow, Nathaniel felt... flattered?
   âNo. Thank you,â  he answered, dumping her legs off the couch unceremoniously so he had a place to sit. Xander, fresh out of the shower, took the other side, and before long the three of them were settled down together on the couch, Inara sprawling herself across both their laps, head on Xanderâs shoulders, legs over Nathanielâs lap, the group of them watching Scrubs as if it was the most normal thing in the world. As if they were... happy.
   âIf you change your mind...â Inara offered when Nathaniel had finally joined them in the present, as signaled by his criticism of the most recent jaw-dropping diagnosis.
   âIâll keep it in mind,â he told her, giving her leg a pat to ease her mind. He wouldnât; but he had the most peculiar suspicion that Inara would âhappenâ to find some way to break his case, anyhow. And he couldnât even bring himself to be annoyed.Â