River reaches for the shuttle’s telepathic console coordinator.
“Hey, Emily, do you know if these shuttles have cloaking technology?” Jack muses, putting his antique-style boots in her way over the blinking blue buttons. “Otherwise, it’s going to be hard to land this thing in a civilian area. They’ll know we’re suspicious.”
River scowls at him, favoring the right side of her mouth a bit, like she does with her husband. “If you think for one moment I’m going to enjoy this, then you’re right. The enemy of your enemy is your friend, and my husband would want me to make friends with you. He obviously holds you in esteem.” Her fingers brush the top of his left boot, caressing the dark tan laces and brownish nanoleather as though her hand were a feather boa and the shoe a mere donation to the cause.
“No thanks, Miss Murder,” Jack murmurs, looking away and staring at a panel on the wall, “...I have no intention of flirting with the woman who killed the only man I love more than myself.”
“Didn’t you say that before? I was sure you…”
“…nope,” Jack replies, pointedly popping the p.