She eyed him through the crack, her expression wary. Only a few days before he'd basically been royally kicking her to the curb and now he was at her door disappointed that she hadn't gone to the stupid party. Well, she wasn't going to cave that easily.
Except then he got all cute at her. And honest. And he did look good in his costume. Ridiculous though it was. She stood for one more moment before the barest hint of a smile crossed her face. "Come in," she offered, unlocking the door and widening it, giving him room to enter.
She knew she was letting him off too easy. And maybe, given time, she wouldn't. Maybe she'd hear him out and then tell him to go anyway. Or maybe another few drinks and she'd be asking him to throw her up against the nearest flat surface. The thing with Mal was, she couldn't ever tell. Not only what he would do, but what she would do in return. She was crazy about him, but in some ways, she really just wanted to punch him in his far too perfect face.
Letting him into the hotel room seemed both problematic and inviting. She was worried. All she needed was to be hurt again. But at least he'd admitted that he sucked at being a pair or whatever his little sign language moment was supposed to be. "Can I get you a drink? I'm afraid it's just whiskey tonight."