I... don't have a good excuse for why this is so freaking late.
[Mal can't help it. He flinches. The face that stares back at him is vaguely Reaver-ish, vaguely... burnt? He's not sure what. But he doesn't have much time left to ask about it as the forcefield is pushing harder and the bot is shrieking louder if that's even possible. Right. He closes his eyes and mashes his lips against the other man's hoping it's enough for the bot.]