Helen

It's been too long, to the point of frustration, to the point where she's wondering if the years on the island have made her lose her touch. More than once Saffron has wondered if she should just give it up, if she just needs to admit to herself that she doesn't have the magic she once had out in the black that spurred her marks to be on her inside of ten minutes, as she'd told Mal once upon a time. She's never had to work this long to get what she wants.

She's been wondering, but tonight, it's like it's all finally sliding into place. She and Molokov have been together the better part of the afternoon, strolling in the park, enjoying a nice dinner, going out dancing. And now that evening's turning into night, she can feel it - that spark, that sense the time is right, the feeling she used to get back when she did this for a living that let her know all the pieces were falling together. Saffron's noticed the way he's been looking at her all night, the way he silently claims ownership by slipping an arm around her in public, by keeping her close as they dance.

She's holding her shoes in one hand as they move off to the side in the low-key club where they've been dancing. She's been making sure to stay close to him as much as possible, as if she can't stand to be too far away, and now she slips in beneath his arm, her own curling around his waist as she stands facing him, pleasantly buzzed. "It's getting warm in here, Alexander," she murmurs, nuzzling against his neck.