A/N: Originally, this was going to be a full length story, but I've managed to simplify it into a very long one-shot instead because I don't feel I had enough material for a lengthy story. So, here it is.
Only a Woman
"my boy builds coffins for the rich and the poor
kings and queens; they've all knocked on his door
beggars and liars, gypsies and thieves
they all come to him 'cause he's so eager to please..."
-florence & the machine, my boy builds coffins
Summary: There is a story in the 'verse of a lowborn man who fell in love with a Companion. But it cost him his life. MalxInara
All she could do was run.
She had lifted her skirts, and ran as soon as she knew.
She didn't need to be told, her role in it was obvious.
Bare feet danced against the ground, as they carried her.
Her bracelets tinkled, her anklets moving with her, silver shining in the sunlight.
The wind played with thick, ebony curls, pushing them back and out of her face.
Her breathing was laboured, her chest heaving with the effort.
Tears and kohl stained a stream against her blushing cheeks.
Fresh ones pooled in her eyes, and threatened to spill at any moment.
But she ran, because she had to.
It didn't matter how much the soles of her feet hurt her, it didn't matter that her arm was wounded, and bleeding. It didn't matter that her expensive sari had torn and ripped against the jagged rocks she'd climbed down. All that mattered was getting to him before they did. She couldn't care for her dirty appearance, or her newly split lip which was leaving a fresh trail of crimson down her small chin. They could all be tended to later.
Little, short gasps escaped her throat as she tried not to think of what could happen if she didn't get to him in time. She could hear the gunshots in the distance, convincing herself that most of them belonged to Zoe's shotgun and River's pistol as she did her death dance. She told herself that Jayne's grenades were responsible for all the explosions behind her.
It should have given her a peace of mind, knowing that Simon and Kaylee were on Serenity, keeping her girls safe.
But it wasn't enough.
All she could think of was the captain.
Beaten and bloody, at the mercy of men who were battle starved.
Her heart hammered against her ribcage, like it would burst out of her at any minute.
When her skirts were caught on branches, she'd yank desperately until the delicate material would tear away, freeing her.
She hadn't the faintest clue what would happen when she'd get there, didn't know how she could save him.
She didn't have River's killing grace, Zoe's warrior skills, or Jayne's brutishness. She was but a woman.
And her woman's heart seemed to stop beating when she saw them at last.
They circled him like wolves circled their prey. He was on his knees, swaying. Eyes closed, blood marking his temple and right below his nose. A lot of it was caked in his honey brown hair, against his ears. She'd seen him on the verge of death many times. She should have been used to it by now.
But then they'd kicked him down, and his face was planted into the dirt. He fell with a loud thud. The man's boot dug into his neck, and he moaned in pain. The barrel of a pistol kissed his head.
The gun cocked, and she ran into the clearing, drawing their attention. Desperation turned into adrenaline, and for the moment, all her aches and pains were forgotten. All sense of danger was replaced with a growing fear for the captain's life.
Inara Serra threw herself on top of Malcom Reynold's beaten body in a last ditch effort to save him.
The lamb had shown up to the slaughter.
Sobs wracked her body, she was shaking with them. She could barely speak, and when she did, her voice was a mess.
"Please," She begged through the tears.
The wolves circled her, now. She paid them no mind. Instead, she cradled his head into her breast, and a bejeweled hand caressed his cheek. She buried her face into his hair, ignoring the smell of sweat and blood.
A tall shadow was then cast over her, and she didn't move. Only then was she truly aware of the danger all around her, of the lion's den she'd walked right into.
The man who was looming over her, gripped her chin with gloved fingers, and tilted her face so that she was looking up at him.
She stared at him defiantly through all the tears, trying to quell her quivering lips. Anger and hate boiled within her as she gazed at the man responsible for everything.
All she could see of his face were his hazel eyes, with the tiny flecks of green, and framed with a fringe of black lashes. The black bandana obscured the rest of him, and the tan cowboy hat covered his hair. The pistol was in his holster now.
He wore a brown coat, tattered and riddled with bullet holes.
He stared at her, searching her face, and she took the opportunity to spit at him.
He slapped her for it, hard. The force of it sent her reeling, her hair moving over her face and her skin tingling where he left a mark. She could feel her nose begin to bleed.
More gunfire in the background, but it was distant this time. Somewhere, someone screamed, and Inara hoped that it was one of his men.
Zoe, River and Jayne were still fighting the good fight.
It was up to her to save their captain.
The leader then removed the bandana, revealing his broken nose and twisted mouth, and chuckled.
Taking off his hat, he crouched down next to her and wiped the spittle from his dirty face. She glared up at him from where she sat, still holding Mal to her body. The man smiled at her, with white teeth.
"Well, I'll be damned," He spoke, in an accent not too different from the rest of the crew of Serenity.
"What is it, sir? You know the bitch?" One of his men piped up.
He just shook his head and ran a hand through his thinning, greying, dirty blonde hair. He was still smiling cynically the entire time.
He stared at her when he asked, "You'd give your life for this man? This criminal?"
When she didn't answer, he threw his head back and laughed aloud, a hearty laugh, as if he were truly amused.
"A companion, a rich, beautiful companion," He commented, seemingly speaking to himself.
However, his men were growing restless from the lack of killing."What're we waitin' for?! Let's kill the whore, already!" One of them cried, staring at Inara with malicious, beady eyes, his fingers twitching on his rifle.
Another man, masked entirely except for his eyes, stepped towards her, and said, "Not 'fore we have our fun with her, first."
"Do it," She spoke, finally finding her voice.
All eyes were on her now. Some were shocked at her outburst.
She stared them all down before adding, "Under one condition; you let him live, and leave the Training House. Everyone else lives."
"Ooh, this one knows how to bargain," The man closest to her said, playing with one of her curls.
When he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back, Inara heard a gun cock.
In a minute, she was let go, and saw that the leader was the one pointing the weapon at his own man.
After making his threat clear, he came towards her, pistol resting at his side.
"Tell me," He started, his whisper tainted with the smell of spirits, "have you heard of a man named Marshall King?"
-.-
Whoreslayer was the name his men had grown fond of using, what with his reputation. He'd started the organization, the hateful group that wanted to eliminate companions, and other Alliance associated businesses. It came as no surprise that many of them who joined his cause were dust devils.
But before that, he had been a Browncoat rebel, fierce in the fight against the Alliance. He'd been in charge of the victory when the Independents ambushed them in space, after one of their own had infiltrated the Alliance ranks as a spy.
But the boy who had been born was named Marshall, by momma King.
That boy had been innocent, or so the story goes.
His father had been in transport.
When the war had started, smart man seemed to know it was only a matter of time before it came knocking on Hera's door, the border planet his family resided at.
It had been planned that just as the war broke out, papa King would steal a cargo ship from the Blue Suns' many transport companies, and make off with it. He would smuggle his family, and a few other survivors, aboard the ship.
They'd be safe.
But safe never lasted forever.
So, Marshall volunteered in an effort to help change that.
He had a natural taste for war tactics, and climbed the ranks fairly quickly. After his major victory during the ambush, they'd raided the Alliance ships for all their spoils, and spent it right under their noses. That was when he met Shyla, the companion. She was tall, slender, and her skin was a lovely cinnamon brown. Her hair was straight and as black as the night sky, falling just past the small of her back. She was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.
"Never bedded me one of them fancy whores before," He'd said when he'd seen her, but he'd been blushing, and he wasn't a man accustomed to do such a thing around any woman.
Before he approached her, he'd made sure he cleaned up nice; sure she'd end up picking him for the night. After all, he hadn't been too bad on the eyes back in the day.
She'd smiled at him, when she'd seen his proposition. He'd charmed her, he knew. He hadn't thought of it as an act, hadn't realized it was all that training and education. He thought she really wanted him, and when they made love, he truly believed that she didn't want any other man. He had been unfamiliar with the ways of a companion. He'd left his heart unguarded and, like so many men before him, he'd offered to take her away.
"Forget the war, forget the gorram Alliance bastards who want to bed you. They don't even love you, not really," He'd begged.
She'd stroked his cheek and smiled that sad smile of hers before shaking her head, and reaffirming what he already knew, "My place is here."
He'd grabbed her by the wrist and argued, "They'll kill you in this war, the Independents, and the Alliance, they'll just use you, and toss you aside. I ain't ever gonna do that to you, not ever. Come with me, I'll keep you safe."
She'd laughed then, "So I can be your personal whore on your ship? Like some kind of trophy? I don't think so."
She was saddened by the broken look on his tired face, and so she added; "I'll be here. Should you ever wish for a break from this war game you're so busy playing at, come find me."
And so he did. Time, and time again. He lost count of how often he'd awoken cradled into her naked breast.
But Shyla was a prominent Companion, and her fees were exuberant. It wasn't long before he'd found himself spending all that he'd earned on her.
Then, things become unclear. Some say his crew abandoned him for spending all their earnings on an Alliance whore. Others say when the Independents found out, they excommunicated him from their ranks, claiming that those earnings belonged to them, and could have funded their war.
One thing was certain; Shyla died shortly after.
Whether the madness came from her demise, or the madness had been the cause of it, no one can say. Had the man gotten so jealous, so angry that when she'd cut him off, he'd killed her in a fit of rage? Or had the Alliance discovered she had been sleeping with the enemy, and decided it was death by treason? Perhaps it was the Independents, murdering her along with many others, on an Alliance based planet where she had been working for the time.
The story changes, depending on who you ask.
Some like to believe that Marshall offed himself after everything. Others claim he died fighting for the Browncoats, choosing to remember him as a hero. There's a claim somewhere that reavers took his ship, and that he became one himself because of the madness.
None of it is true, though.
The man met his end with his own bullets.
Only, Malcom Reynolds was the one who pulled the trigger.
-.-
His motives made sense, now.
She was still trying to register it, even as all the men around her lay dying in a pool of their own blood. All except Mal, who had dropped the weapons to the ground, and leaned forward on all fours to spit out the blood in his mouth. Marshall lay twitching in front of her, still very much alive, but not for long.
The gunfire and the fighting at the Training House had ended after a series of loud explosions that tore through most of the building moments before. The explosives that had been assigned as a last resort were evidently used in a final effort to thwart the enemy. Serenity could be seen in the distance, hovering in the blue sky now, untouched. This let them know that in the least, River was safe, as she was the one piloting the ship.
Inara turned to look at Mal.
He'd surprised her.
It hurt her to smile with a busted lip, but she did, anyways.
He always surprised her.
Marshall had been distracted by her, shocked by what he saw in her, by the sincerity in her eyes when she'd offered herself in exchange for Mal.
It was the perfect opportunity the captain needed; he'd been as quick as lightning, finding a sudden and final surge of strength when he'd gone for the guns. He'd simultaneously shoved Inara out of harm's way. He'd shot Marshall in the chest with his own pistol first, the one that had been aimed at Mal only moments before. They'd shot at him after their leader fell, the men in the distance. But they were clumsy going for their weapon, taken aback by the sudden attack.
Mal had grabbed the man closest to him, the man who'd threatened rape, and used him as a shield from the bullets while Inara hid next to Marshall's body. The masked man's rifle was in Mal's bloodied hands, and he riddled the rest of them with holes, a fierce battle cry dying on his lips as they fell, their bodies jerking from the impact.
No one was moving anymore. Except Marshall himself.
Inara's hand found Mal's in the dirt. He looked up at her, blue eyes watering from pain. He eyed the pistol, and then looked at Marshall. She understood.
She crawled towards him, wanting to look at the face of the man who'd been responsible for killing so many of her sisters and brothers. The pistol was in her hands, but her fingers shook. She took aim at his temple, and remembered everyone she'd lost because of him.
He sputtered up blood, and when he looked at her, he grinned with it still coating his teeth.
"Gorram woman was good at lyin'," he started, a violent coughing fit ensuing before he could continue, "Lied to me about it all, made me believe she really didn't feel a damn thing',"
Blood dribbled down his lip and into his greying stubble.
"But you love him, don't ya? Filthy, no good Browncoat, and you love him," He accused her.
Inara never denied it. She tried to steady her fingers.
"Shyla, did you kill her?" She asked him.
He laughed then, but it turned into another hacking cough, and there was more blood this time.
She cocked the gun and asked again, "Did you kill her?!"
He nodded, "I killed her, yeah."
Inara felt tears well up in her eyes when she whispered; "Why?"
He stared at her for a moment, and then confessed, "If I couldn't have her, no one else could."
Inara clenched her jaw.
"And now, I'm all the more sorry for it," He whispered, closing his eyes.
"Sorry won't bring back all the people you killed! Sorry doesn't suddenly excuse everything you've done!" Inara cried, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks as she remembered all her fallen brothers and sisters.
He laughed, and she wanted to knock his teeth out.
"No, it ain't gonna revive them dead whores of yours. But it's a start," He explained.
He surprised her when he grabbed her by the hand that had been holding the gun, knocking it away from her. He pulled her in close to his face, so close she could smell the alcohol on his breath again.
"Don't lie to him, woman. You might create a monster, just like Shyla did," He whispered.
That was when Mal planted a bullet into the dying man's temple, and the companion gasped. Inara looked up to see him standing over them, breathing hard, and a thin sheen of sweat covering his now pale skin.
He shrugged and said, "He was talkin' too much."
Inara noticed the way he was covering a spot on his side with a single hand, and the blood that was seeping through his fingers. Mal tossed the gun aside, and looked up to the sky where Serenity remained. She stood up next to him, forgetting about Marshall's dead body, and worrying about the bullets that had grazed Mal during the fight.
He then turned to acknowledge Inara, and with a weak voice, said, "We should...get to Simon...you're bleedin'..."
He stumbled towards her, looking at the nasty cut on her arm. She caught him just as he fell forward, and was almost knocked back by his weight.
She held him there, until Serenity was on her way to pick them up.
She held him, and remembered Marshall's final words to her.
-.-
A/N: So, here's the deal. I had written more, but was unsure of ending it the way I originally had. Basically, let me know if anyone would be interested in seeing a tiny epilogue to the story, which I can always add. If not, I think the ending here can suffice, as well. Feedback, as usual, is welcomed. :)