Hey, hey! It's my birthday (I'm 21 today, what?) and thus seemed a fitting day for another update. While I'm writing this, one of my birthday presents is gazing at me from the foot of my bed - a giant poster of that promotional photo where Mal is holding Inara in his arms in that pretty golden hallway (yes, that one, you know the one) and it's as if they're encouraging me onward. So! On with the story!

CHAPTER TEN

BOUND

03 - 21 - 2506

Summer, still in its nascent stage, hung like perfume over the fruit orchard behind the mansion. The air coated Inara's throat, sweet and heavy, as she breathed in.

"I must thank you again, Deomar, for coming here on rest day." Inara heard her father, close behind. "I lament the inconvenience it must have caused you."

"Not in the least," came the soft, reedy voice of his visitor. "The journey from Londinium to Sihnon is rather pleasant, on the new commuter-class ships."

"True," said Inara's father. "I would never trade my home here for one of the complexes in the Parliament district. One must keep his work and his leisure separate, or at least try. Besides, I could never bear to live so far from my bǎo wù."

Inara turned, pausing as the two men caught up. Her father loomed, not tall but lean, over his guest, whose deep blue Chancellor's robes dragged along the ground as he walked.

"Of course." Chancellor Sutherland beamed at Inara, cheeks rounding to match the rest of him: a squat, balding egg of a man. He twirled his spindly goatee as he spoke. "You've certainly benefited, dear, from having your father so close. A guiding presence, preparing you to enter Society."

"Yes." She smiled. "I'm very lucky."

"Yet talented as well, so I've been told. No doubt you inherited your mother's skill." His eyes glazed, tilting into the distance. "A remarkable woman, Kalindi Serra." He nodded to himself. "A shame you were too young to remember her."

"Yes." Solomon glared at the ground, hands clasped tight behind his back. "A great shame."

Inara pulled in a breath. "I can only hope to honor her memory in my career," she said, as smooth as she could.

Chancellor Sutherland took Inara's hand, giving it a pat. "You will, my dear. You will."

"It's hard to believe I'm so close to graduating. I feel as though I still have so much to learn." The words churned in her, and she released them in an outward rush. "About the state of the Universe, for example. I know almost nothing of the crisis on the Border planets, with the Independents."

"Darling." Her father gave a breathy laugh. "That it is not a topic you need concern yourself with."

"I'm not concerned. I'm curious."

They stopped walking. Both men turned to look at her. Solomon's dark brows peaked in warning.

She pushed on. "We're taught the value of a broad knowledge base, in politics as much as art and philosophy. I simply want to be informed."

Silence, brief yet dense, sank in. The Chancellor cleared his throat.

"That's noble of you," he offered.

"Quite." Her father didn't sound as though he meant it. He waved a hand. "But the situation is far too complicated to be distilled into dining room conversation."

"Rest assured that our capable leaders in Military Affairs have the issue well in hand," said the Chancellor. "Your father chief among them. Or soon-to-be chief, I should say."

"You flatter me, Deomar." Inara's father shook his head, with a smile. "It's a matter of making the connections, that's all." He laid a hand on Inara's shoulder. "With the right contacts, the help of this man, and enough luck, I'll have my Chancellor's robes by the time you graduate."

Inara summoned a smile, tilting it up to him. "May the forces of the Universe be favorably aligned."

He squeezed her arm. "My treasure, I hate to cut our visit short, but there are matters which the Chancellor and I must discuss."

"Of course, Bàba." She turned to dip a curtsy to his visitor. "Chancellor."

"Miss Serra." Deomar bowed as deep as his rotund stature allowed, one arm across his front, the other behind his back. "Always a pleasure."

Inara turned and left the men in the fruit orchard, making her way around the side of the house, toward the front drive. It was early yet. She would wait in the rose garden for the Madrassa chauffeur to collect her, as she often did.

But after rounding the corner, Inara slowed. The murmur of lowered voices reached her ears. She chewed her lip. The wave of her father's hand, "not a topic you need concern yourself with," rankled in her, dragged her to a stop. She bent down, careful, to untie the ribbons laced around her ankles. She pulled her shoes off her feet.

Holding them in one hand, Inara crept back along the paved path. The Chancellor's voice grew louder, more distinct, as she got closer.

"You've heard the latest from the negotiations, I'm sure."

"Yes. Though any attempt to make those hàozhàn Independents and their spineless planetary reps see reason is a complete waste of our time," Inara's father muttered.

Inara leaned closer, balanced on her toes, as far as she could without tumbling into their sight.

"I tend to agree." Sutherland sighed. "But there are many who would not. Among them, your opponent."

"Naturally," Solomon scoffed. "Lisboa Pan's 'peace and diplomacy' platform won her the Chancellor seat 12 years ago. Unfortunately for her, the Universe has changed a considerable amount since then."

With the shuffle of feet, their voices drew nearer. Inara's heartbeat caught in her throat. She didn't move, holding her breath.

"Nevertheless, she does have the Minister's ear," said Sutherland. "And last I heard, Pan has been suggesting a major overhaul and reform of the Unification Initiative."

The men's footsteps came to a halt.

"Then you see what's at stake here, Deomar." Her father's voice rose. "That initiative is the product of decades of work and careful planning. We can't let it be undone by the temper tantrum of a few delinquent Border dwellers."

The Chancellor grunted. "We certainly cannot."

"I need your help, to start making contacts," Solomon went on, fierce, ardent. "If we wait until I'm elected to begin preparations, it'll be too late. Surely you understand that."

Their footsteps began again, this time growing fainter, as they walked toward the rear veranda.

"I'll do whatever I can to help you, my friend." Sutherland's last words reached Inara as wisps of sound, barely rippling the dense summer air. "But I fear no one will be prepared for what's sure to come."

Inara held still, until the door leading into the house clicked shut. She rocked back on her heels, and let out a breath. Her eyes stuck in nothing. Words echoed, knocked together in her ears. 'What's sure to come,' the Chancellor had said.

And what would that be?

Leftover adrenaline settled in her limbs, her heart pounding ahead of itself. She had turned away, to start back toward the front drive, when a high-pitched beep shattered the air not a meter from her head.

Inara shrieked. Her shoes flew out of her hands, to land on the pavement. The sound stopped, leaving a shrill neon imprint in the air. Inara froze, panting for breath, ears pricked. The alarm seemed to have come from the seven-foot hedge that lined the side of the house. She swallowed past the thud of her heartbeat, and drew nearer.

A flash of uncommonly blue eyes shone through the leaves. Inara gasped, and stumbled backwards.

"What in Buddha's name-" She breathed in and out, hand over her chest, before she mustered her worst glare. "I suppose hiding in shrubbery must be some traditional custom on Shadow, but you should really try to break the habit."

Wesley Gale pulled himself out of the bush. "I wasn't hiding." He brushed debris off his shoulders. A few twigs stuck out of the Mandarin collar of his service uniform. "I was, uh, tryin' to call up the groundskeeper."

Inara peered around his shoulder at the screen set into the wall of the house, barely visible through the hedge. "But isn't that a portal to the security mainframe?"

"Oh." He drew out the syllable through rounded lips. "Right." He glanced at it, then back to Inara. "Explains why I wasn't havin' much luck."

"You'll want a service panel." Inara pointed to the garden. "There's one just there. I could call him for you, if you like?"

"No, no, no." Wesley waved his hands, palms out. "Wouldn't want t'put you to any trouble." He smiled.

"Well." Inara returned it. "Please don't let me keep you."

He hesitated. "Yeah. Yeah, um. Here I go." He sidled past her, took two steps toward the Zen garden, then stopped. He spun 180 degrees on his heels, flashing Inara a half-grimace, half-grin. He snapped his fingers. "I just remembered he's not here. He's got some real urgent… appointment."

"Really." Inara tilted her head. "What sort of appointment?"

"You know, he didn't say. Therapy, I hope. He has a hard time expressing emotion." Wesley made a vague gesture at his chest. "Keeps it bottled up inside. Very unhealthy."

Inara nodded. "Right." She narrowed her eyes, locked with Wesley's, until he looked down at his boots. "You're a terrible liar," she said.

His eyes snapped to hers, blown wide. "What? No, honest, he- well, alright, maybe he didn't, exactly, uh…"

"You were eavesdropping on my father and Chancellor Sutherland." Inara crossed her arms. "Why?"

He stared at her a moment, mouth open. A change stormed over his face, nostrils flaring, the cords of his throat visible as he swallowed. "I ain't gonna let you accuse me-"

Inara lifted a hand. "Let me make this clear. Tell me what you were doing, or I'll call my father out here, and you'll answer to him."

The stable boy pulled his lips into his mouth. Inara sensed he could barely keep himself from spitting a volley of curses. He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck, before he lifted his eyes to hers.

"Alright. I'll tell you the truth." He sighed. "It's stupid, but since you already think I'm a Border-planet back-birth, I guess it don't matter none."

Inara frowned at this, but didn't interrupt.

"Davis told me yesterday that Councilor Zhi likes to take Chancellor Sutherland out riding when he comes to visit, which means I'd have to serve 'em in person. But I don't know a Chancellor from a chandelier." He pronounced 'chandelier' with a hard 'ch,' and Inara nearly choked, swallowing a laugh. He eyed her, and went on, "I was tryin' to… I dunno, find out how to address him, how to bow and scrape and all that. So I don't shame your father, and get myself fired."

Inara held him still a long moment with her eyes. He stared back without apology, with something else instead, keen and sincere. It seemed to disrupt the regular pattern of Inara's breath. She almost forgot what they were talking about, before he spoke again, voice low.

"So, you gonna call Councilor Zhi? 'Cause I'd really appreciate if you didn't."

Inara shook her head. "No. I won't."

He let out his breath. "Thank you. I know I don't deserve any kindness from you, after how I received it the last time." He gave her another head-on stare, and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry about that, by the way."

"It's alright." Inara had to look away. Expelled from the House. Min Song's warning tapped at her mind. "I- I have to go." She moved past Wesley, maintaining as much distance between them as possible. "Please excuse me."

She made it three steps before he called out, "Wait."

Inara turned around, more sudden than she should have. He'd come up close behind, and momentum brought them within inches of collision. He stumbled to a halt, with a soft "Whoa." He smelled of horses, sweet hay and leather.

He held up Inara's shoes by the laces. "You forgot these." He gave her a crooked smile."Wouldn't get too far without 'em."

Inara took the shoes. She looked down at her bare feet, cheeks burning. "Thank you," she murmured.

He gestured to a nearby bench in the Zen garden, behind a large fountain of columnar basalt. "Here, you can sit down, while you, uh…" He faltered. "If you want."

"Thank you," Inara said again, and bit her cheek. Fine time for her conversational prowess to have abandoned her. She took a seat on the bench.

Wesley followed, with cautious steps. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," Inara lied. From the corner of her eye, she watched him sit on the opposite end of the bench, leaving a respectable gulf of air between them.

"Just killin' time, 'fore I gotta get back to work," he answered the question she hadn't asked.

Inara slowed her fingers, arranging the laces around her ankles. She swallowed, and started talking, before she could think better of it.

"A Chancellor occupies the highest position in his or her particular council of Parliament, and has certain powers, including the ability to propose or delay pieces of legislation. A chandelier is a ceiling ornament, usually made of glass or crystal."

Wesley crinkled his brow. "What?"

"The difference between a Chancellor and a chandelier." She straightened up, and tipped him a sideways glance. "For future reference."

He chuckled. "Okay. Good to know." A moment passed, before he turned to her. "So, what's Sutherland the Chancellor of?"

"Universal Relations."

"Huh." His brow lifted. "That's a whole lot for one Council."

"Yes. And it's arguably the most important Council in all of Parliament right now, with what's been going on."

"You mean," Wesley dropped his eyes, "the Independents, 'n all?"

Inara nodded. "Not that I know all that much about the situation."

He quirked an eyebrow. "That why you were eavesdropping?"

Her mouth tightened. She glanced away. "My father doesn't like to talk about it, when he doesn't have to."

"Yeah." Wesley's voice darkened. "Must be a real heartache for him."

"Well, surely not as much as it is for you."

His eyes struck hers. "What d'you mean?"

"If the chaos these people are causing can be felt even here, it must be horrible to live in the place where it's all happening." She watched his face as she spoke. "I can't even imagine."

He let out a mirthless chuckle, and shook his head. "Sorry. It's just- you're right. You really can't imagine what it's like."

"Are the Independents the reason you left Shadow?"

The stable boy leaned back, with a hard, false smile. "Nah. Told 'ya already, remember? I needed a job. Might be packing my bag a bit sooner than I planned, though, if I can't curtsy 90 degrees or whatever."

Inara gave him a soft look. "Service etiquette isn't all that complicated. Just make sure you address elected officials by their titles, and nothing else. Deomar Sutherland is always 'Chancellor,' and my father is 'Councilor.'"

"For now," said Wesley. He tilted his head at Inara. "Y'think it's likely he'll get elected Chancellor of Military Affairs?"

"Of course," Inara breezed. The easy, immediate answer. She bit her lip. "He usually gets what he wants."

Wesley looked thoughtful. "So, that it?" he said, after a moment. "I mean, is that all I need to know?"

"Not quite. If my father takes the Chancellor out riding, then their aides will come along, as well. The rules get a bit trickier with them."

Wesley groaned.

"You must show respect to the aides, but not the same level of respect that you show the elected officials. You should address both aides as 'Sir.' But you can make eye contact with them, whereas you must always avoid eye contact with the Chancellor and my father."

"Are you serious-"

"Also, if you have to give something to a Parliament official, some piece of equipment, you can't hand it to them directly."

He scrunched his brow. "Why not?"

Inara hesitated. It had never once occurred to her to ask 'why' when she was taught the rules of social hierarchy. "Because it's seen as a… a breach of status." She blushed.

"Okay." Wesley stretched the word. "What do I do, then, slide it across the ground?"

Inara's mouth twitched against a smile. "No. Give it to the aide, and the aide will hand it along."

Wesley laughed, a sound like none Inara had ever heard, rough yet warm, scratchy at the edges. She felt it in her chest, spreading outwards to fill her limbs.

She could barely hold down her own long enough to add, "And make sure you don't give it to the wrong aide, because they can only hand things to their own boss."

"You're joking, right? That's ridiculous."

Inara shook her head, and said between giggles, "I'm not joking. Promise."

Wesley pulled a straight face, turning all the way toward her, one arm laid across the back of the bench. "So, say the Chancellor steps in horse manure. Does his aide have to get down and lick it off his shoe? Or does that honor fall to me?"

"Oh, no." Inara pulled her lips into her mouth, fighting a grin. "He'd leave the shoe there, and his aide would have to carry him around for the rest of the day."

"Piggy-back?"

"No, bridal-style."

They both broke into giggles again. Inara lost track of her body language, and his, unable to see anything past the open grin that filled his face, laughter shaking his shoulders.

At last she straightened back up, heat blooming in her throat and cheeks. "I think that covers it," she said, breathless. "Any questions?"

Wesley shook his head, grinning at her. "Gotta say, Miss, you're the zhuàngyuan of etiquette tutors. In my humble opinion."

She ducked her eyes. "Thank you."

He shot to his feet. "Bié zǒu. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Inara called, but he'd already gone. She sat still a moment, her mind clear of anything but the fading warmth of his presence. The hum of a land speeder engine made her stomach pitch forwards. She stood up.

The Madrassa chauffeur was waiting for her on the front drive. Inara couldn't afford to be late, not two Sundays in a row. Not after her conversation with Priestess Song. She turned to look back in the direction Wesley had run. Lucid thought smacked her like ice water.

The longer she stood there, the more difficult it would be to leave.

Inara turned and walked as quickly as her feet could carry her, out of the Zen garden, toward the front drive. She almost made it.

"Wait."

His voice was more air than sound, footsteps slowing from a run, to stillness. Inara stopped just before reaching the front of the house. She shut her eyes, for the briefest moment, and turned to face him.

"I have-" to go, she started to say. The words dissolved in her mouth.

Wesley's cheeks were flushed, chest heaving with the force of his breath. He held something out to her with both hands.

"This is for you," he breathed. "Sort of a thank you, if y' like."

Inara's mouth hung open as she took it from him. A book, in the style of ancient times, small and finely made, bound in blue. Gold text spelled the title, as formal and familiar as any in the Core.

"The Covenant?" She snapped her eyes to his, unable to hide her surprise.

"I was in the city on my afternoon off, and I bought it to have somethin' to read, but-" He shrugged, looking down at his boots. "Thought you might like it. I'd imagine you got the whole thing memorized, but it's a copy of your own, all proper and old-fashioned. Well, printed on paper facsimile, but-"

"It's lovely," she cut him off, smiling. "Thank you, Wesley."

He returned her smile, a bit lopsided. "You c'n call me Mal, y'know."

Inara's throat twisted. I wish I could. She looked down at the book. And I wish I could take this. She swallowed, looking back up to Mal- Wesley.

"Have you read it?" she asked.

He nodded, before Inara arched her brow, and he commenced to shaking his head.

"You should." She held it out to him. When he didn't move, she added, "I think you'd find it very… instructive."

"I imagine that's true." Wesley took the book from her, reluctant.

Inara summoned her warmest smile. "Consider it your first homework assignment."

"First?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Does that mean there'll be more?"

Inara's smile didn't waver. "We'll see."

"Well, then. I'd best get to studyin'." He lifted the book, as he started walking backwards, half-turned away. "See you around, Miss Serra."

"Goodbye, Wesley."

Only after she'd turned around did Inara let her smile fall, as she left the estate behind. She left empty-handed, light-headed, yet full of something she couldn't name. She crossed her arms over her chest, to keep it safe inside her, and stared unseeing out the windows of the speeder, all the way back to the House.

translations:

hàozhàn - belligerent (said of a country/entity of people)

zhuàngyuan - the very best in a certain field of study or occupation

Bié zǒu - 'Don't leave'

*sigh* I love writing fluff with these two. (Even if Mal is kinda faking it for the sake of his mission...) It's so fun to imagine how it could've been before they went and broke each other's hearts. Also, to anyone who might be annoyed by Mal getting called 'Wesley' over and over in Inara's POV - I promise this is the last chapter where that happens.

If you liked this chapter, please let me know in a review! It would be the best birthday gift I could ask for. :D The next two chapters are definitely the "calm before the storm," so enjoy it while it lasts, and brace yourselves. I'll see you in Chapter 11 - until then, stay shiny! ✧