"Snow?" Inara frowned, studying Mal's face for a hint of a grin, a quirk of an eyebrow that would give his words away as a joke, a prank he was playing on her. How like him it would be, to break into her apartment and wake her up to tell her that she was snowed in. That was ridiculous. The days had been quite clear, if chilly, no snow in the forecast...
But Mal wasn't laughing.
"I don't understand," she said finally. Her mind felt sluggish, and she craved a cup of tea, something hot and strong to clear her head. The last thing she remembered was- "I laid down for a second - I was so tired. It was a - a nap. What do you mean, days?" Have you hit your head? she wanted to say, but judging by the look in Mal's eyes, the strength of conviction with which he spoke, it was more likely that it was she who had hit hers. She remembered the oppressive weight of the almost-dreams, the restlessness of her sleep, the way it clung to her like tendrils of heavy smoke, and shivered. Something wasn't right.