A/N: Now, it isn't always what I figured would happen, but after the events of the BDM, it only makes sense that Inara is decommissioned. So, I got to thinking; how the heck did she take the news? Being a fiercely independent woman, I can't imagine she handled such an event well, regardless of the fact that it was her decision to choose Serenity. Naturally, this change would impact her relationship with Mal. So this here is just a little snapshot of what might have transpired. Music inspired this thing would be Long & Lost by Florence + the Machine.

Say Something

"the universe is curled up inside us all,
it is up to us to find the stars..."

-Christopher Poindexter

"There hasn't been a day gone by that I haven't thought about what your lips might taste like." Inara, spirits, and a little bit of truthfulness. Post BDM, Pre LotW. Mal/Inara.

"You been drinkin'."

It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.

The last thing that she needed in the 'verse was this man in the same room as her, looking at her with those stupid eyes and that even stupider, forlorn expression on his handsome face. It was unfair of him to show up like this in the middle of the sleep cycle, and interrupt her by being all caring and consoling like the fool that he was.

She stared up at him with glossy eyes, and conveyed her annoyance the best she could without words. Mostly because she knew that they'd slur, jumbling up and sounding so foreign almost as soon as they'd leave her mouth. Her thoughts were also incoherent, and she tried to fix the problem by bringing the glass to her lips, pouring the remainder of the liquid down her throat. Once before, she'd have been overcome by its awful, bitter taste, but now she could hardly notice a thing about the contents aside from its familiar, sweet, warm burn in her belly.

Mal looked to open his mouth, beckoning protest at her rash actions, but seemed to decide against saying anything when she polished off the remnants of the booze in her glass. She dared him with her eyes, but all that accomplished was earning her a look of pity and disapproval.

"She's running on empty tonight," she said, staring at the fancy bottle placed on the table before her.

There was barely anything left, the remaining amber fluid sitting at the very bottom of the glass, reflecting the dim light of the dining area in a mesmerising fashion.

"That's cause you drank it all, darlin'," he answered her, sounding ever so smug.

Irritated, she shook her head, her wild curls swaying with her. "Not talking 'bout alcohol," she slurred.

Funny, it sounded so different in her head. She hated that he enunciated so much clearer than she did in that moment. She was supposed to be the proper one, after all. There was nothing proper about Malcolm Reynolds. Not his wrinkly, undone dress shirt, or his messy, unkempt fringe. No proper man rolled his sleeves to his elbows, exposing the fine muscles of his forearms, and no proper man could look so dishevelled and deliciously attractive at the same time. It was downright unnatural, the way her loins ached at the sight of him.

"Well, Serenity's just gotten a refuel, so I'm afraid you're goin' to have to be a mite more specific." He rested his hands on the table, and she stared at the way his fingers tangled with one another.

With parted lips and a focused gaze, she said, "Not the fuel either."

He was perplexed now, actually intrigued by her gibberish. She could barely keep up with her own train of thought though, trying her hardest to keep what she wanted to say in her mind fresh before it vanished or was replaced. But it was so hard what with both the toxin inside of her blood and the distracting man talking to her.

Serenity was running on empty, it was still true. The why alluded her, now. It was as if she didn't want to remember, as if she didn't want to know the truth behind her very own words. She pushed against the barricade in her mind, never realizing that she'd been the one who'd built it in the first place.

She looked longingly at the empty chairs about the room, the ones that would forever stay that way, and regretted letting open the flood gate almost as soon as she'd recalled the answer to her question. There was always a reason for the walls she'd put up, and this time had been no different. She poured herself another cup, polishing off the last drop from the bottle, and proceeded to gulp it down. She threw her head back as she did so, and let the cool drink wash into her mouth. When she worked up the nerve to glance at the captain again, she found him staring at the table instead.

He was as lost as ever, lonely and guilt ridden, carrying the weight of everything he possibly could onto his broad shoulders. It was never enough; he would only ever crumble beneath that burden, she knew. Her heart ached at the sight of him so beaten down, and no amount of spirits could ever help put a stop to that feeling. Fú liánmǐn, she wanted to gather him into her arms and heal him with every part of her. She wanted to rest his tired head upon her breast, and run her fingers soothingly through his hair. He would hurt with her, and he would mend with her, too, if she would only let it.

He stood up then, the chair screeching against the floor, and she looked to him suddenly, begging him with her eyes not to leave her just yet. She had so much to say to him, so much to get off her chest before she lost the courage.

"Think I know where Jayne keeps another bottle," he stated, turning to go fiddle in the cabinets, and setting her troubled heart at ease.

Like a cat, she extended out her arms onto the table, and placed her warm cheek against the cool wood, stretching. She stayed like that even when he came back with another glass and a full bottle of spirits. He took his seat with a heavy sigh, undid the lid, and poured a bit into her cup first before filling up his own. She fixed her eyes on him, and examined him in ways she never could have done before. She studied the planes of his face, his cheekbones, of the way the light flickered in his dark blue eyes, and cast shadows on his comely features.

He felt her watchful gaze like a fire that was burning too close, and met her eyes then. She was probably unsettling him, she knew that, but unlike usual, she much rather enjoyed seeing the effect she had on him.

"Do I got somethin' on my face?" he asked her, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

He rubbed his stubbly cheek in an effort to wipe away at some invisible stain.

"Yes. Shuài," she replied, her voice muffled from the way her face had been pressed up against the table, but her answer did not go unnoticed.

It was her uncanny ability to make the man go speechless. He'd have called it wiles, but she would have said it was just honesty. The captain's eyes were wide, his lips parted as he stared at her, gauging her seriousness on the matter.

Then, he broke into a smile and laughed it off, albeit a bit nervously. "Just what do they got in this stuff anyhow? I oughtta invest in more of it if it's makin' me prettier. Might help on capers," he jested, picking up the bottle and inspecting the list of ingredients written on its faded label with a concentrated stare. Anything so he didn't have to look at her in that moment.

She sat up then and drank the rest of what was in her glass without hesitation, feeling dizzier by the second. The room spun about her, and Malcolm's face swam before her vision, like an anchor pulling her to shore.

"'Nara," he spoke her name softly, conveying all he was feeling in that moment in such few syllables.

He was worried about her, worried she'd drown herself in the alcohol before realizing it.

"This ain't like you," he stated plainly, taking the glass away from her when she least expected it.

She could have laughed at his observation, but instead the sound that came out of her mouth was a mix between a giggle and a hiccup. She found it even more amusing and roared with laughter, tears in her eyes. Mal, on the other hand, remained very much the same; perturbed by her new demeanour. He knew something was going on with her, and would only push as far she'd let him in getting her to open up. It almost made her want to tell him. Almost. But not quite yet.

"You're right. Companions don't drink this much," she verified.

She grabbed the bottle much quicker than he'd anticipated, and took a swig, the sweet liquor colouring her lips as he struggled to watch her, wanting to wrestle the damn thing out of her hands.

He drew his lips into a tight line, grabbing the bottle away from her roughly once he'd deemed she'd had enough. Anger altered his temperament quickly, and when he spoke, his words took on a finality to them that he usually reserved for giving orders. "I'm thinkin' it's 'bout time you got to bed," he informed her sternly.

"Only if you'll be joining me, captain," she boldly declared, if just to get that sort of reaction from him.

Mal's jaw had dropped, the anger dissipating from his features and replaced with a deep reddening of neck and ears. He had stood up then, fumbling for words and failing to pick any which one to start with. Inara threw her head back and snorted with laughter. Little did either know how much she actually meant the words. She could have used a night of comfort, and she was certain that Mal wouldn't have minded one, either. Maybe, for once in a long while, she'd actually get to experience a dreamless sleep nestled against him, naked underneath the covers. They'd have nothing but each other to keep warm, his heated body beneath hers and his heart pumping a steady rhythm that could lull her into a peaceful slumber.

Yet, the smile was quick to die on her lips, the ebb and flow of the numbing sensation from the alcohol breaching enough to let her feel something again. She stared at the table emptily, feeling a sense of deep betrayal and hurt, like she'd forgotten something very, very dreadful that had happened to her recently. It would be a new wound, fresher than the realization of dead friends and a broken family.

It came back to her then, and it was like taking a plunge from the vast sky; like she'd been caught in the planet's orbit, and was falling freely, being pulled in with such immense force. It tore her away from Serenity, and she could see her lights flickering in the distance like little stars, reaching out to her and beckoning her back home. The hum of her engines sang to her, calling her, but she'd fallen too fast and too far, and by the time she'd heard it, it was too late.

"They decommissioned me."

Her shaking fingers were on her face, shielding her from view, covering her in darkness. Under normal circumstances, she'd have been certain she wouldn't have cried, but she was far from herself, and this new person was not someone she knew all too well just yet. It was a risk she wasn't willing to take, not in front of Malcolm Reynolds, not like this.

She wanted to go back to being the woman who was so sure of herself, the one who wasn't so vulnerable, who didn't feel so deeply and regrettably. She longed for the woman who could turn her back on her home, and leave behind the only person in the 'verse she'd given her asinine, gullible heart to. She had clung to that identity, even as it perished in her hands.

He was there, of course. He could never leave her in such a state. He couldn't leave her at all, that much he'd proven to her time and time again, no matter how hard she'd pushed him away. He sat back down, bringing his chair closer to her this time, his presence speaking volumes louder than any words ever could. He sat there with her silently, until she was ready to move her hands away and reveal her face to him again; the one of this new person she was becoming. Surprisingly, her hands came away dry, and she wiped at her eyes in an effort to feel for tears that had perhaps been lingering.

She found nothing.

An entire life she'd built, gone, and she couldn't even shed a tear for it, not even now. She didn't comprehend why until she'd looked at Mal, seeing his head down, hunched over and appearing to have tacked on yet another load to his already heavy guilt pack.

She moved her hand to his knee and rested it there, trying to reassure him and grant him some peace of mind. "You should know that I don't regret any of it. I'd do it all over again if given the choice," and she said it with a small smile, coming to know the truth only as she spoke it.

The corners of Mal's mouth twitched and he placed his larger, warm hand overtop hers, content with her response and the sincerity in it.

Then, in an effort to lighten the mood, she tilted her head to the side, as if to be second guessing her statement, and amended it; "Well, I suppose I do regret some things."

He gazed at her, apprehensive as to what she'd say next, and she moved ever closer to him, sidling over in her chair. She was fixated by his mouth, by the fullness of his soft, pink lips and the enticement of them being beneath her own. His heady, masculine scent mixed in with that of the spirits they'd just shared, intoxicated her more so than she already was.

"I never did get around to kissing you," she whispered seductively, confessing to him one of her deepest, darkest secrets.

He was so close to her now, and she was only continuing to be pulled in by him, the sway of their bodies indicative of what she'd just revealed. Her long and lustrous lashes swept her cheeks as everything became hazy with the deadly merge of lust and alcohol.

"That so?" He asked her in a husky tone of voice, not faring any better than she was.

His lips were parted in anticipation, and he was overwhelmed with desire for her. His eyes were heavy lidded, and he was ever mindful of the shortening distance between her warm mouth and his.

"Mhm," she started, "Malcolm Reynolds, there hasn't been a day gone by that I haven't thought about what your lips might taste like," she disclosed, her breathing growing heavier the more he'd inch towards her.

She'd said it. After what felt like an eternity of chasing and dodging, she'd finally come clean, and all she'd needed to do it was a solid reason to become totally inebriated. She figured losing her job had seemed as good as any.

Her life had fallen apart, she knew that, and in the morning, she'd be haunted with it anew, along with an ear splitting headache. She'd watched dear friends be buried, she'd come back to familiar faces she'd grown to care for only to now see them etched with pain. She'd learned of terrible secrets that had shaken her moral ground, forever changing the way she viewed living and the universe. She'd taken a stand in a merciless battle, ready to forfeit her life for a cause she believed in, with the people she'd come to know as a family. She'd watched them fall around her, one by one, knowing that each one of them had forgiven her when she'd abandoned them once before, all for the sake of a lifestyle that didn't want her anyways. None of it was something she'd soon forget about, and she'd keep that all in mind when she'd rebuild herself from the ground up.

She just wasn't ready to so just yet. So, instead, she'd found herself in the comforting arms of a glass, and she'd be damned if it didn't end in the arms of the man she'd been told she could never have.

"Coulda just asked," he told her then, his nose rubbing gently against hers, his breath warm on her face.

She bit her bottom lip, feeling her heart racing in her chest. "Companions don't need to ask," she informed him.

His hand came up to tangle in her unruly hair as he brought her mouth to his. "Good thing I ain't kissin' a companion, then."

A/N: The lyrics for Long & Lost remind me of Inara quite a bit in terms of her coming back to Serenity, and I wanted to write a piece of her finally admitting her feelings for Mal and for everything else she's pushed back so much. Anyways, feedback is appreciated. Translations are below. Thanks for reading, and I promise more Sky Song is on its way. :)

Translations:

Fú liánmǐn: Buddha have mercy

Shuài: handsome