Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Spoilers: None really
A/N: Haven't written Mal in a while, wanted to try something new for him and Inara. Mal's PoV, Very Post-BDM, MalInara, captain-y angst. Read, enjoy, let me know what you think.
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Part of him figures he ain't got no kind of right to ask it of her.
It's the same part of him that all too aware of the fact that all that Guild go se is as deeply rooted in her as all that medical jargon is in Simon, they ain't been reared for no different.
Despite what she may think he understands when she says that for her it ain't merely a job. What most people couldn't tell about 'Nara was that she was as rudderless as he was, she was just a damn slight better at hiding it from the rest of the world. He figures it all comes second nature to her now, the hiding, after all this was a woman trained in tellin' other folk what they fancied hearing, only made sense that at some point she'd take on some guises for herself. All of which means that when it came to certain things, 'Nara took them as a life style, from the easy smiles to the incense, all of it sprang from her training, the things she had known long enough to find comfort in.
All of it's something to her.
And all if it's just one long winded discussion they've been putting off since this whole affair got underway, 'cause as luck or Fate would have it they'd been far out for months, and weren't really anything on backwater moons and dust bowl planets that up to par with her taste, not in men or money.
But now they was headin' back Core-wise, to her type of society and Mal can practically hear the countdown going off in Serenity's belly as they get closer and closer to a time when he'll walk in on her making appointments landside.
And though he don't claim to be no Teller, he knows them both well enough to know what will go down when it come to that moment.
He knows he'll see red no matter what ever jest it is that comes outta his mouth and he knows that it'll all tumble into a mess of fighting words till she's all matter of flustered and outraged.
He knows that's when he'll ask her.
He'll stand 'fore her, too proud a man to ask her to understand, too foolish a man to admit that he does, his hands itching to touch her just as always but he'll refrain cause her skin has a way of muddling his head and he'll figure that now more than ever it's important to have a level head even if his stomach's turning and jealousy and longing are scalding at the back of his throat.
Mal will ask for something so great that her face will fall blank before every pretense of calm is chucked out the door. Then slowly, like the fluttering from one of the pieces of silk that hang around her bed, all the walls will drop back across her eyes, 'til there ain't nothing exposed on her that ain't skin deep.
In a low voice that packs more of an impact then any scream could, she'll tell him all the reasons she can't do what he asks of her. And he'll see it, there, retreating behind the armor in her eyes, the disappointment that he ever asked in the first place.
Mal figures that by then it'll be too late for control, figures his tongue will move with all the easiness that only comes when he's gonna say something stupid. He'll let slip something that sounds too close to a threat and too close to a accusation, something he'll later regret—cause if nothing else, it's a trend in Malcolm Reynolds' life— and she'll make clear that she won't tolerate such petty tactics on his part.
She'll remind him then; with all the sharp accuracy he sometimes wishes didn't have no matter how much he loves her for it, that she has never once demanded such things from him. She'll remind him that she has never asked him to relinquish Serenity or the crew or his life of petty thieving. "Because you believe in it Mal." She'll say with softly, though with no less conviction, wanting him to understand. "Because you wouldn't be yourself with all of it."
And it'll be true—he wouldn't be himself without Serenity and all she provides, not without the freedom she allows. He might as well be dead without her because he can't honestly picture himself leading no other kind of life.
And all this he reminds himself of in later days as 'Nara walks off the ship, wrapped up in her silk and finery in a way she hasn't been in so long a time, smelling like the jasmine he helped apply to the inside of her wrist, the nape of her neck, the smell now stuck on his own clothes, hands, lips. It makes his stomach tighten and turn but he keeps a blank face as he looks after her.
It's all there, the conversation that never was, along with memories of months past, the thought of her with another man—her laughter, her smile, her joy, all staged and bought—and his lips burn from her departing kiss.
He watches as she walks away and there's a part of him that figures he might be dead yet.
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End
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