Korso really hates birthdays.

Maybe he's just an emotionless bastard—which is highly probable—but he just doesn't see the point in making a big fuck over someone in celebration of another year they've managed to not die. And don't even get him started on his birthday. As if the dreaded days don't get under his thick skin enough, something about people singing to him leaves Korso reaching for a gun and fondling the trigger.

That said, Joseph Korso really fucking hates birthdays.

So when he hears a pounding on his cabin door on this particular morning, he knows it can't be a good sign.

"Fuck off," he says in a half-awake slur.

"Captain?" An unmistakable voice responds, male and nasally and completely unwelcome.

Korso groans. Of all the living things on his miserable ship that could be outside his door on this day, why Preed?

"Go away!" calls Korso. It's an immature response, but it's the best he can come up with under the given circumstances.

He knows Preed heard him with those uncannily sensitive bat-ears, but the alien must've decided to be extra irritating in Korso's honor, because the next sound Korso hears is the creaking of the door as it opens.

"Morning, Captain," says Preed, all wide yellow eyes and shit-eating grins as he sidles across the room.

"Gorrammit, Preed, you can't just come strolling in here," snaps Korso, struggling to sit up. "I could sleep in the nude for all you know."

The Akrennian smirks and falls dramatically on the edge of the bunk. "Not as though it would matter." He lays one bony fingered hand on Korso's upper thigh. "Considering I've seen everything there is to hide."

Korso slaps the offending hand away without as much as a second thought. "Not in the mood for your bullshit today."
Preed's ever-present smirk stays. "You didn't seem to mind the other night."

"Shut up," hisses Korso through his teeth. He's automatically glancing down the hallway outside the door, praying that no one else had been listening because the last thing he needs is for the crew—and, by extension, the universe—to know that the great Joseph Korso is fucking Preedex Yoa.

"Relax, Captain." He attempts to twist his smirk into something less disheartening, but only half-succeeds, the result of which looking more pained than charming. "Today's a special day for you."

Korso debates how to respond to that—remind Preed to stop talking for once with a jarring right hook, or blatantly ignore him until he shuts the fuck up. Korso rolls his eyes, deciding to go with the latter.

As much as the alien could use a kiss with a fist, Korso has no desire to explain to the crew exactly how his first mate had a minor accident involving something that could've left a fist-shaped bruise. Not to mention, Akrennian blood stains are a bitch to get rid of.

No, he'll refrain from bodily harm. At the moment, at least.

The air around them is silent for once; aside form the Valkyrie's constant humming. It's never when Preed is around. The son of a bitch never shuts up—he even talks in his sleep. (Not that Korso would know anything about the alien's sleeping habits, of course). So it's reasonable that the uncharacteristic silence is a bit unnerving to him.

Korso cracks his neck loudly. The sound seems to reverberate off the dull metal walls.

Sighing in annoyance, he shoves one long, wiry leg away from his waist. How Preed managed to curl said leg around Korso's waist without him noticing is beyond him. The Akrennian doesn't seem phased. He just blinks lazily at the human with that smirk all over his face.

Korso stands up slowly, arching his back and squeezing his shoulder blades together.

He steps over to the small sink built into the hull and splashes a bit of never-warm-never-cold water on his face. He leans closer to the mirror, unconsciously scrutinizing his reflection. Faint lines a re creeping up around his eyes and jaw—not that he cares in the slightest bit.

Korso's eyes move to the corner of the mirror, where he can see Preed's bulbous yellow eyes following his every move.

"Stop staring at me, dammit!" With every moment, he feels a bit more of his soul being seared away just by those eyes.

Preed's long-fingered hand flies to his chest, laying flat over the place that Korso assumes his heart is. Akrennian anatomy never sticks in anyone's mind…

"Honestly, Captain, you make it seem as though there's something else worth looking at in this hopelessly boring room."

"Then why don't you go bother someone else?" He grumbles, blue eyes never leaving the mirror.

Preed responds with a laissez faire wave of the hand. He leans forward to get a better view of what Korso is doing. "Are you actually checking for wrinkles?"

"No!" Korso straightens up quickly. He was, of course, but a man still has to protect his dignity…damn it.

Preed looks like he might internally combust from holding back what must be side-splitting laughter. "Of course not, Captain," he sneers, carefully constructed smirk quivering. "You were simply inspecting your face for visible signs of your rapidly accelerating age."

Sucking in a breath, Korso turns around, mouth open and index finger raised in the air prepared to defend his shelved honor. He hesitates, looking down at the smirking alien who seems all too eager to hear what he has to say.

He emits a noise somewhere between a weary sigh and an irritated groan, letting his hand fall to his side. It's too early to be defending anyone's anything.

So instead, he turns on his heel and moves toward the door.

"That's the spirit, Captain."

Korso isn't surprised to hear that Preed's voice is coming from directly behind him as opposed to across the cabin. Preed can be quite a master of stealth when he wants to be, what with his abnormally long-legged stride.

"Getting right to work, never lounging about in the early hours of the day," Preed continues, trailing behind Korso at an uncomfortably close proximity. "Especially today being what it is…"

Korso grits his teeth, studiedly ignoring the last bit of that comment. Once he's right at the threshold of the cabin, Preed quickly side-steps around him, taking care to accidentally-on-purpose press himself up against the human in the process.

So Korso can't be blamed when he accidentally-on-purpose lets his elbow stick out at just the right angle as to clip Preed in the sternum.

Preed disregards the bruise that's no doubt developing on his chest and continues meandering out of the cabin…backwards.

They're nearing the end of the passage way when Preed promptly stops in his tracks. Korso—who was busy exercising his rights to walk through the ship's corridors with his eyes half-shut because he can—is thoroughly surprised when he collides with something he hopes wasn't a wall (because that would just be unseemly).

His vision slides back into focus and lo and behold, its just Preed, who really is determined to reach his full potential of annoying today.

"What the hell?" Korso half snaps, half sighgroans in the familiar tone of voice that's reserved for a certain alien first mate of his. He looks at the approximate four inch gap between Preed and one side of the narrow passage, trying to gauge just how difficult it would be to squeeze himself through it.

But really, how is it even possible for one to be so stick-thin and still manage to block an entire hallway anyway?

Preed gives an airy shrug complete with a lackadaisical quirk of the eye ridges. Ever the picture of nonchalance…

Korso tries to step forward, but Preed's just standing there like the soles of his boots have magically become one with the deck. Plus he's still staring at Korso with those beady eyes, which is getting to a whole new level of unnerving.

"Is there a problem, Preed?"

"What ever would make you think that?" Preed responds calmly, crossing his arms loosely over his chest.

Korso arches a thick eyebrow and rubs his forehead in tired exasperation. He's seriously beginning to regret leaving Preed in command for one fucking night, but he'd had no choice after accidentally dozing off at the helm and nearly colliding with several hovering masses of space shit.

Not like it was a huge disaster—Korso hadn't slept in days and the Val made it out with only a little bit of mauling on her flank, nothing a few hundred gallons of industrial paint couldn't fix. She needed a new paint job anyway…

But still, Preed forced Korso into his cabin, assuring him that everything would be just fine in my skilled hands, Captain, don't you worry.

Korso had the same thought then as he does now. Bullshit.

"Preed," starts Korso, lowering his voice in an attempt to sound more intimidating than usual.

"Yes, Captain?"

"I'm warning you—if I see anything that even resembles some form of birthday related shit—this meaning any celebratory posters, novelty party hats, Mylar balloons, confetti, flash mobs—," he shudders. "Or especially if there's any goddamn singing on board my ship…" Korso pauses and steps in. "I will personally have you jettisoned. Are we clear?"

Preed swallows, his face a disgustingly calm grin. "Transparently."

With that, Korso lumbers off in the direction of the bridge.

Preed waits until the man is out of range before he raises his communicator to his lips. "Akima, my love, my darling, this is Preed speaking." A borderline-sadistic smile grows on his face. "I believe a slight change in plans is in order."

AN: I started working on this on a whim after reading The Sylver Lining's fantastic TAE fics. Some credit for this has to go to her, considering she opened my eyes to the wonderful fuckery that is this ship. So I'm hoping this can live up to the high-set bar her stories have raised.

There was one Firefly reference in there, and also a Florence + the Machine reference (how on earth that got in there, I have no clue). Anyway, thanks for reading—I love you all.