Holding The Reins

Rated: PG

Category: Gen, Ficlet (425 words), Inara.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Sometimes Inara The Companion Takes A Backseat To Inara The Woman.

Note: Written in response to the LJ prompt of 'Pants' on ff_friday.

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Inara didn't always go to meet a client when she left Serenity.

Sometimes, she made time for herself instead.

A companion is never to be selfish, but neither beauty nor skill could be maintained indefinitely without the occasional hearty dose of outside help.

So Inara visited spas and conservatories and museums occasionally.

She reminded her fingers how to play the dulcimer and honed her knowledge of fine art.

She even practiced her more physical skills from time to time. Archery and horseback riding were taught to all companions, and there were days when Inara missed those simple pursuits.

Today was one of those days.

It was simple enough to rent a horse, and as Inara slid into her riding breeches, she couldn't help but grin.

She remembered her days in the academy; days spent learning ancient etiquette and convoluted rules of equestrian grace. She tried to tell herself that this was the same; that her mentors would have endorsed this activity.

Inara knew better, but she didn't care. Her grin took on a rebellious edge.

Today wasn't a day for dresses and sidesaddles; it wasn't a day for instructors and fancy commands.

Today was a day for pants; a day for sweat and strength and speed.

Inara Serra, registered companion, saddled her own horse, far from the prying eyes of anyone who knew her. Then she mounted that beast and rode for the horizon as if her life depended on it.

And in a way, it did.

Inara had dinner on Serenity that night.

She was the picture of companion grace and beauty. She smirked and raised an eyebrow at Jayne when he leered at her and asked what had kept her out so long. She teased Mal intentionally with every movement… even though every movement sent fire through muscles long underused and severely overworked.

Her façade never faltered; her veneer never cracked.

It never even came close to breaking. For the woman who was Inara Serra was well accustomed to hiding behind the gilded mask of a companion.

She was used to the trappings of formality-the dresses and make up and show were as much a part of her as the air she breathed. It was an easy game for her to play, and she enjoyed it.

Inara knew of companions who couldn't separate themselves from their jobs; companions who slowly became bitter or insane from the duality of it.

But Inara had no problem holding on to her sanity…

As long as she also got to hold the reins every now and again.