Title: Unsought Hero, Unclaimed Heart
Author: Secret-Agent-Omega
Genre: Angst/Drama.
Rating: M for brief mention of violence and non-graphic character death.
Pairings: Mal/Inara.
Location on Firefly Universe Timeline: Post-BDM.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: A tragedy prompts truth between two star-crossed lovers.
Disclaimer: The people, places, and plentiful paraphernalia you know and love/hate are the property of their respective owners, namely Joss Whedon, his associates, and any groups which control or are controlled by said individuals. No profit is made by the author of this work of fiction from the creation or distribution of said work, nor is any infringement intended. Plagiarism is considered a serious criminal offense, and punishable by law. Please ask before redistributing this work.
Length without header: 2 page(s) at 12-point Times New Roman font; 497 words; 2,618 characters including spaces.
Feedback: Some authors don't care about feedback. I am not one of those authors. Giving feedback tells me that you took the time to read it and cared enough to comment on it. Receiving feedback is a wonderful thing, and every author should experience it.
Notes: I'm not a fan of deathfic, but I wrote one anyway. For the record, a lady on this site by the penname 'The Noble French Fry' wrote a very similar story entitled "Greater Love" long before I had the idea for this ficlet. In many ways, I think her version is better than mine, and I would strongly encourage you to check it out.
Unsought Hero, Unclaimed Heart
By Secret-Agent-Omega
"Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are 'what might have been'."
- Excerpt, "Cat's Cradle", by Kurt Vonnegut
In the end, Mal's sense of chivalry is his undoing.
In a way, Inara should have seen it coming. After all, she's seen him pay the price for doing what he believes is right so many times before – prices paid in blood, more often than not.
It seems like such an easy job – pick up the legal cargo and deliver it to the law-abiding customer – and Inara goes with Mal to make the drop, because the merchant is a friend of hers.
They don't realize that so easy is too easy until it's too late, and he shows up – Atherton Wing, spoiled dandy turned obsessed egomaniac.
He monologues for a minute or so – it's almost comical, really – about the difficulties of procuring a new identity compared with the satisfaction of killing them both. But then there's a gun in his hand, and suddenly nothing about the situation is comical, because they're going to die, and there's so much they haven't said.
It happens fast; so fast that it's over almost before she realizes it's begun. Atherton may be the better swordsman, but Inara's never met Mal's equal with a pistol – a testament to the life he's led, she supposes.
Two shots ring out, one on the heels of the other, and then it's done; Atherton lies dead on the floor, shot between the eyes. But as she turns to Mal, she sees him wince; sees the telltale crimson flower blooming through his shirt – right over his heart.
He falls to his knees before Inara can catch him, and by the time she's laid him out on the floor with his head cradled in her lap, it's all Mal can do to breathe.
Between trying to keep pressure on the wound and trying to keep him conscious, Inara begs the universe and the fates and whatever deities might be listening for a miracle; for some way to save the life that's become so intertwined with her own.
In the midst of her entreaties, she hears him call out her name; feels his hand brush her cheek, his thumb wiping the tears from her eye. She meets his gaze with her own, and sees that familiar crooked smile; Inara wonders how, even at death's doorstep, Mal can still make her heart flutter.
"Always wanted to be your hero", he gasps. "Looks like I finally got my wish."
Inara has no witty comeback; there's no way to make light of such a situation. The truth is all she has left, and he deserves that much from her.
"I never wanted a hero", she whispers, taking his hand in hers and pressing a kiss to his palm. "I just wanted you."
Mal's smile is genuine now; he pulls her hand to his own lips, pressing them gently to her blood-stained fingers – and then he's gone, his last words a sigh in the heavy air, more breath than sound.
"I was always yours."