Dinner had come and gone - another staggering amount of food and drink for the crowd that seemed to be multiplying by the minute. A few of the guests had brought instruments and were playing together asa crowd gathered around to dance in the cooling air. The sun was still high in the sky but the light had gone soft and the landscape seemed golden and faintly aglow.

Mal saw Wash and Zoe joining the dancers, with Kaylee and Baby Bob trailing behind, seemingly joined at the lips. Inara and Fin were already dancing, twirling around each other with hands raised to the sky. There was a clamor from the dancers for more to join them - apparently for a dance of some import.

Jolly was by his side, taking his hand. "Join the dance, Malcolm. It brings good fortune to the new family."

Mal joined the dance, lined up opposite Jolly, one of perhaps a dozen or more pairs of dancers arrayed in a large circle around Tug and Jemmie's wedding shelter. The fiddle player called out the steps for the newcomers, gradually increasing his tempo. It was an energetic dance, well suited for a climate with cool nights even in the summer. Bow, curtsy, clasp hands, turn, three quick steps side by side. Circle, change places, clasp hands overhead. Circle, circle, circle again. Bend, rise, come close, circle again. Hands on the lady's waist, hands on the gentleman's shoulders. Ladies jump, men lift your partner, let her fly, hold and turn, let her land. Bow and curtsy, circle again...

Mal was surprised when the dance went on for a second round, with the circle of ladies moving to the left so that each danced with a new partner. "We dance the circle complete. For a complete life." Jolly smiled winsomely at him as she sketched a graceful curtsy at a nervous-looking young man. He nodded at her as she turned away into the dance. Down the line he could see Kaylee dancing with one of the oldest Cousins and Wash partnered with one of the Powell's neighbors. If he remembered correctly, she was the sister of his current partner.

He nearly trampled the poor girl as the realization hit him that Inara was circling through the dance as well, coming closer to him every time the song began again. Ta ma de! he swore to himself beneath his apologetic smile. How many years of having Purplebellies shooting at your sorry carcass - how many years of wrangling, making deals with the most disreputable hun dans all about the Rim, and one black-haired woman makes you lose your wits? He caught sight of her, 3 couples away. Maybe she'd get bored and excuse herself from this rustic exercise - surely it couldn't be to her cultured tastes. A man could hope.

Two couples away. Her hair was tumbled around her face in silky, shining waves, making him remember how the wind played with her curls that day on the beach, after she'd lost the enormous hat. He danced with Kaylee, nodding and smiling absently as she chattered away about the perfection of Baby Bob.

He steadied her for the lift, met her merry eyes. "Whoooeee!" Kaylee sang out as she rose into the air. Her sweet face radiated pure delight, and Mal chuckled.

"That your favorite part, Little Kaylee?"
Kaylee beamed at him, indulging what she evidently considered a silly question. "That's all the girls' favorite part, Cap'n, don't you know?"

One couple away. Had she looked at him? Probably not. Close enough that Mal could see that her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining with undisguised pleasure. She didn't need her wrap, as energetic as the dance was, and her skin was slightly aglow with the exertion. He heard her laugh softly, responding to the joy of the dance.

And then it was Inara, standing before him, looking still pink-cheeked and happy, but maybe more self-possessed than he thought she had been. A smile, perfectly genial, as she curtsied in answer to his bow. He extended his hands for her touch and she rested her hands on his upturned palms, watching them as she did. The steps of the dance brought them closer, the quick steps now almost a run as the musicians quickened the tempo. Still holding hands, they circled each other, traded places. Dropped their hands, only to raise and clasp them again overhead. Time seemed nearly to have stopped - he could barely hear the music or the dancers all around them.

Although he held his arms angled toward her, she still had to reach almost on tiptoe to catch hold of his hands. This brought her closer than ever, and she tilted her head back to look up at him as they circled around each other again and again, their hands still joined overhead. Mal wasn't sure when he'd drawn his last breath, with her so close and her eyes so intent on his face. He felt his jaw clenching, had to fight himself not to close his eyes against the onslaught of painful need. She was so close. He made himself hold her gaze as she looked up at him. Her hair smelled like...something, something that made him thirsty. Something he could not afford. They stepped apart, bent down toward each other and rose again, stepping close and circling. Mal felt her hands slide lightly up to his shoulders as he placed both hands on her waist. He could feel the muscles move at her waist, feel her breathing. A tiny smile, oddly bashful-looking, played on her lips.

"Ready?" she whispered through the music as she prepared to jump. Mal managed to nod as he felt her hands firm themselves over his shoulders and she gracefully lifted toward him. He took her weight in his hands as he turned, turned in time with the dancers to his left and right, holding her above him for a moment, feeling her hands move across his shoulders to keep her balance, setting her down lightly. Letting go of her was such a relief he nearly forgot to bow as she curtsied to him, her eyes shining with a demure pleasure. Circling, circling...

She'd leave him. Leave them all, leave Serenity, just as surely as she would circle into someone else's arms in another few moments. He could never keep hold of her, and he knew it was all kinds of wrong even to try.

The dance was ending. It was almost time to drop her hands, to bow as she curtsied one last time, to let her go. For the best - it would be a relief to be done with pretending, enduring.

He let her go. There was nothing else to do.

"Sir?" Zoe greeted him a few rounds later. He took her hands and nodded as they started the dance.
"Quite a diverting affair the Powells got up for us." Mal nodded toward Tug and Jemmie, drinking warm cider under their shelter. "These folks should get hitched more often."

"A fine evening, sir." Zoe paused. "So how is it you're looking like your pumpkin patch got trampled?"

"Me?" Mal protested. "I am...reveling. I been right here, reveling away the entire time."

Zoe was undeterred. "Sir, I've seen you happier with a gun to your head."

"That right?" Woman was too damn perceptive. He needed some stupid people on his crew. Mal thought of Jayne, and revised his last assessment. But at least all the suns in the 'verse would explode in a fiery death ball before Jayne ever asked him about his feelings.

"With your own gun to your head." Her voice was low as they circled each other.

She obviously didn't have the correct perspective on that particular venture. "That was only that one time, and my shooting arm was sore from - " Mal paused while he considered how to frame that day in their history.

Zoe supplied the details. "Being thrown out of a moving mule, beaten, and threatened with your own gun?"

"Well, yeah." Mal put his hands on Zoe's waist. He lifted, turned, and set her down. "What's your point?"

"Sir, you looked sprightly that day, in comparison to just now." Zoe tilted her head slightly behind her.

"I wasn't - " Mal was at a loss for what to say. He looked at his oldest friend, at their clasped hands. Wondered how, with all his piss-poor luck, he'd avoided losing her. She was...as she always was.

"Whatever comes, sir, we'll face it together."

The dance ended with cheers for Tug and Jemmie, and the dancers settled gratefully into the cool grass to rest. The musicians continued to play softly.

A voice, ethereal and shimmering, reached into the melody and joined the players. Mal saw people stop in their tracks at the sound of it. He heard talking around him cease, except for her name.

"Jolly." Jocelletta Powell was beautiful walking, standing, speaking. Singing, she was enchantment itself. The musicians angled toward her, watching for every breath and cue. Her voice rose and seemed to fill the night. She sang of the blessing of true love, devotion, sharing strength and building a life together. When the song ended, she nodded, a little solemnly, into the silence.

The crowd did not applaud but sat still as if bewitched. After a long moment people began to stir - a few cheered for Tug and Jemmie, or called her name in emotion-choked voices. Jolly waved to them, but left the musicians and headed to where Mal sat with Monty.

"How was that ride?" she asked with a look toward her brother.
"I'll go see to Ma, Jolly," Monty said as Mal looked up at her. The big smuggler hurried off.

"That was very fine singing, Jolly-girl. Fella could get spoiled round here." Mal grinned. "Spoiled and portly," he added, tilting his head toward the long tables under the oak trees.

"I remember you said that last time you were here." Jolly dropped lightly onto the grass beside him, curling her legs under her skirt. "You could stay." There was still music in her voice.

Something in what she said, beyond the simple words, let Mal understand that what she was offering wasn't business. "Jolly," he began, searching her face while he thought of what he could say.

"Hear me out." She held his eyes calmly. "I know how things ended after the War. Know it pains you still. Look around you, Malcolm. If there's a place for healing, it's here with us. With me." She saw him about to speak, shook her head in a tiny arc to stop him. "I told myself years ago I'd take no man for my own until I could say this to you, and I'm saying it now. Stay with me tonight."

Mal was beyond startled at the woman's offer. How could he tell her what he hoped she'd never know?
"Jolly. That can't be." That there is no forever home, on any of the turning worlds, that someone can't take away. Mal knew that people looked at him and pretended to themselves that what happened to Shadow, and him, could never happen to them.

"I remember how you were, when you visited us all those years ago. How happy. How brave. Your faith - I've been in love with you since I was a little girl. I'm not a little girl any more, Mal." The air was light and clear all around them. She was very beautiful. It was not enough.

"No, you're not. You're a fine woman who deserves a man with a heart. And I don't have one to give." It was no way to repay her kindness, the kindess of her entire family. Take his place at her side, claim her and this home for his own, without being able to return the love and devotion she was offering. Try not to let it show that every time he took her to bed he was yearning for someone else. Ruin any chance she had at finding happiness with a man who adored her.

They were both quiet for a moment. The musicians were calling to Jolly. She looked at Mal with a sadness behind her even expression. "I'll be in the cherry orchard tonight."

"And I'll be on Serenity." He waited for her to walk away from him, back up the hill toward the music and the crowd.

Someone had lit a fire near the lake - the sun was dropping quickly through the purpling sky. Mal saw Zoe and Wash sitting on the flat rocks, their faces turned toward the flames. He moved to join them.

"I'm heading back to the boat. Comm me when you're coming on."

Zoe and Wash exchanged a glance before Zoe answered Mal. "Thought we'd stay on the homestead, sir."
"In the orchard," Wash added, his eyes glowing with something more than the wine he'd had at dinner. "The Powells have put up hammocks for the guests. Hammocks work like swings," he added.

Mal couldn't decide if his pilot were completely lust-addled, or if he really had that low an opinion of Mal's mechanical understanding. "Fair enough," he replied quickly, hoping to cut off Wash's explanation of the myriad erotic advantages of hammocks and swings. "Let Kaylee and Inara know - "

"Think they're camping out as well, sir," Zoe murmured.

Mal scoffed. "Inara doesn't camp, I'd bet my - " His retort died in the air as he considered that Inara might have plans similar to Zoe's and, now that he considered it, Kaylee's. Inara'd been friendly with Fin all day, and Mal knew Monty's brother - Mal was sure Fin would pursue Inara as ardently as he would have done in Fin's place.

"I'll see you at the service, then." And Mal headed across the meadow toward the bridge and the path to Serenity.

--

"Can I persuade you otherwise?" Fin's hand was warm around Inara's as they sat listening to the musicians. "It's a rare fine night tonight, out under the moon." He smiled encouragingly.

"It's been a lovely day, and I thank you for your offer, but I should return to my shuttle." Inara smiled up at Fin. "Alone," she added gently.

She should have been much more tempted than she was, Inara knew. Her new friend was genial, kind, intelligent, and extremely attractive. She had been watching him all day with the discreet observations Companions were trained to make, and had no doubt he would be an enjoyable lover. In fact, earlier today she had decided to accept the invitation she was sure he'd make. Earlier today, before the dance.

But she felt no pull toward him, now. Not the effervescent attraction Kaylee had reveled in all day with Baby Bob; not the discreet (at least on Zoe's part) erotic charge between Zoe and Wash. He'd done nothing untoward to earn her indifference, but she found herself without desire for him. Why?

He's not Mal, replied the voice inside her, the voice that spoke unvarnished truth. Inara was finding that voice more and more of a discomfiture to hear, but she was honest enough with herself to acknowledge the truth of it.

She'd enjoyed the entire dance, the simple joyousness of it, but she'd waited, her heart pattering in her chest, for the wheel to turn and let her dance with Mal. Her anticipation grew stronger with every round - wondering how it would feel to move close to him, join hands with him. To touch his shoulders, feel his hands on her waist, feel him lift her across the air. And although he'd looked unexpectedly distracted for much of their dance, Inara couldn't stop thinking about him. She had no desire, tonight, for the touch of any man who wasn't Mal.

Inara set off across the meadow, increasing her pace as she noticed how quickly the sun was setting. Zoe had been right, the air was cooling quickly. Inara was grateful for the rose shawl she now pulled closer around her shoulders as she picked her way around some large stones.

Looking up again to check for the bridge, she saw Mal approaching the bridge from a slightly different angle. "Mal," she called.

Mal looked alarmed for a brief moment, then stopped and waited for her on the path near the bridge. "Thought you'd be out in the orchard tonight."

Inara wondered what he meant. She'd hardly seen him today, he could scarcely presume that she...well, this was Mal. "I like my own bed," she explained. "What about you?"

His face was serious. "Got my special blanket in my bunk."

Inara looked toward the horizon. The sun was almost dropping out of the sky, the shadows growing longer by the moment. She'd seen Mal throughout the day - seen Monty's young sister seek him out with obvious interest more than once. Not that she'd been watching Malcolm Reynolds, she reassured herself. Inara supposed Mal considered it bad form to take to bed with his friend's sister, although she was clearly of legal age to make such decisions without her family's oversight.

They started to walk slowly, side by side on the path. As they approached the bridge, Mal offered his arm and waited for Inara to wrap her hand around it.

Inara smiled at him for his consideration. "I'm sure I'll be fine, but I do appreciate your concern."

"I know you'll be fine, that's why I want a grip on you." Mal kept his face serious as he explained his strategy. "Light on your feet as you are, you're a good bet for keeping me out of the drink." He nodded to himself as they proceeded toward the bridge.

They crossed the bridge without calamity and strolled through the farthest meadow toward Serenity. The sun had sunk most of the way into the horizon and the colors of the sky were brilliant above the trees. The first stars were appearing at the top of the sky's dome, and in the grass below their feet the white flowers glowed in the fading light.

inara felt herself softening, responding to the beauty around and above her as well as to the man at her side and privately corrected herself for her folly. It doesn't change anything, she thought, as her mind touched the memory of a boat ride under a jeweled sky. Touched the night and then, with lingering sorrow, the morning after.

"What are your plans for tomorrow?" She could hear the music start again from far behind them.

"Head out pretty quick after the ceremony. Monty'll have that part explained to his kin. Wash has set a course for Gallo's last known location, and we'll see if there's any intel on him moving his base as we approach." He glanced at her quickly, then turned to the path again as he shrugged. "Get back what he took, shouldn't take long. Have you back on the job right quick."

"I would appreciate that."

They had reached Serenity. Mal opened the door and let Inara through. She expected him to follow her, but he stood in the doorway looking out behind him for a long moment. His eyes dropped to the floor he stood on; Inara saw him take a breath and pull the door closed. The noise echoed through the cool, still air of the cargo bay. Mal switched on some floor level lights.

"I never imagined this particular ship so quiet," Inara remarked.

Mal nodded as he walked by her on his way to the stairs. "If it's all the same, I"m turning in. Ceremony's at dawn. I'll comm you at 4. Good night." He started up the stairs.

"Good night."

--
Mal dropped the last few rungs to his bunk abruptly, impatient to be alone with the thoughts that had pitched his mind into an uproar for the entire day. But once he got there, Mal found himself frustratingly blank-brained. He wasn't surprised. What kind of solution had he expected to be able to devise, given the colossal mess he'd made for himself? If there were any way out of a love so hopeless as to be laughable, someone in the 'verse would have thought of it by now. There would be generally known strategies. He sank into the lone chair and breathed a few times as if gathering himself, making ready for some onslaught.

He wondered with more than a little fascinated dread what it would feel like, letting his guard down around this particular topic. Unbending, here while he was alone, looking right at the ugly truth, opting out of pretense.

What words? He mumbled her name to his own folded hands, scarcely moving his lips. "Inara." Gave in to the sudden need to close his eyes while he said it. "Inara."

Why couldn't he go back to the way it was, to yesterday when she was distracting and alluring and tempting as the Devil's best girl, but he hadn't yet fallen? When there was some kind of no man's land between his heart and her presence?

"Inara." No more than a whisper.

What would it be like, to tell her the truth? Mal tried imagining another afternoon that didn't feature him damn near running away from her as fast as he could go. Taking her hand, leading her away from the table and under the trees.

"I got something to say to you, Inara."

The mocking challenge faded from her beautiful, fathomless eyes as she saw the seriousness of his expression. Her gaze fell to their hands, intertwined for the first time and when she met his eyes again, Mal saw unmistakeable, sweet desire.
"Son of a BITCH!" It wouldn't work - she'd never walk calmly by his side without a dozen questions and her own brand of elegantly phrased mockery. Mal cleared that scenario from his mind.

He'd go to her in her shuttle - he'd even knock.

Terrible idea. Either she'd be on the Cortex with someone he'd need to shoot, or the shock of him acting mature and mannerly would make her suspicious.

Had he known earlier, he might have made better use of their time on the beach together. He might have formulated a plan that didn't involve...throwing her off of him like some kind of schoolboy afraid of girl germs.

Inara wasn't closing her eyes, was watching him closely, first his eyes and then his mouth, looking for all the world like a woman who wanted kissing. "Mal?" she whispered.

"There was a wave," he explained as he pulled her slightly closer.

"Oh," she responded in a breathy voice, flexing her fingers slightly against his neck and shoulders and blushing so rapidly he could see it by moonlight. He felt the shiver run through her body, pressed as it was against him.

"Are you alright?"

"Of course I'm alright, I'm with you."

She would never say that.

Mal found that he was pacing the confines of his bunk. Their history was definitely working against him, even in a fantasy scenario. It was his gorram dream, but Imaginary Inara was more frustrating and confounding than most real people could ever hope to be.

If they were somehow both to suffer amnesia - an otherwise harmless drug, maybe, or not-too serious crash related head injury for each of them...that might work.

"Who am I? Who are you?" her face betrayed the depth of her worry, but even in her fear she reached for his strength and reassurance. He wished he had answers for her. As it was, he only had one.

"I don't know who you are. I don't know who I am." She stepped willingly forward as he pulled her closer, into his arms. "I only know I love you."

Mal shook his head in disgust. He'd been hit on the head often enough to have the thought of it ruin any revelation, even in fantasy. Head injuries usually led to throwing up. Not romantic.

And they argued too gorram much. All the time. He couldn't seem to stop himself, couldn't help saying the things that would rile her up. For her part, she could never leave well enough alone.

It would have to be...maybe a situation where they couldn't talk to each other.

Hiding out, silence absolutely necessary, pressed together into close quarters for hours, nothing to do but face the attraction that would grow between them, the desire and the reason behind it.

No. Hiding out only meant someone wanted to kill him, which put a damper on the situation. Hiding out with her would mean that someone wanted to kill her, or maybe wanted to hurt her just to make things more generally unpleasant while they killed him. Mal scowled, angry with his fantasy self for failing to keep her out of danger in the first place. Him, Inara, armed bad guys - always the standoff and the threats and the tiresome, inevitable bragging about putting hands on "his" woman. A smile came unbidden as he remembered the last thug unlucky enough to say that about Zoe. She had actually made the man cry, weep tears of pain and naked desperation before that caper played out.

No hiding out, but what if they were on a job together somehow, a rich take, but safe; too rich to pass up but she had to accompany him; and her cover required that she couldn't argue with him, couldn't sigh and retort and roll her eyes in that maddening way...

""Captain Reynolds," she fairly purred at him. He was smiling at her and catching the admiring glance she hadn't repressed as he strode toward her. He'd be dressed up proper, she in some princess dress he'd arranged to have made for her as a surprise - the palest blue and silver, fancy enough to turn her head and make her sigh in pleasure. Low cut.

"Mrs. Reynolds." He offered his arm as they entered the room, preparing to dance and drink and mingle with the other formally-dressed guests at this exclusive soiree. The hours passed in an intoxicating whirl, holding her as they danced, feeling the warmth of her eyes shining up at him, solicitously attending to her every need...

Caught up in each other's spell, neither had seen the storm clouds gathering and covering the skyline, blotting out the stars.

In this fantasy, am I too addled to check the weather report? Freak storm, he answered, growing impatient with himself. Whatever gorram planet we're on has a volatile climate.

They had got away with the take but were still too far from the shuttle when the storm struck. An ice storm, lashing at both of them mercilessly. Inara was soon overcome - he scooped her into his arms and cradled her against his body for warmth as he braved the cutting ice, battling to get them to safety. Her arms clung around him and she buried her face in his neck as she trembled, nearly insensate with the cold.

Through the trees - where the hell was this planet, anyway - he happened to catch the outline of a building. Pulling her closer, he dashed up the path to what proved to be an unoccupied mansion. Inara was swooning, but not quite so delirious that she did not appreciate his skill at overcoming the locks and security system to get them inside.
Murmuring to her to hold on, he found a massive stone fireplace in one of the first rooms. He quickly lit a fire but her condition was very bad - the ice clung to her dress and hair, soaking her in freezing layers. He hurried to the bed, yanking the layers of blankets off the bed and dragging them to the fireside. He enveloped her violently shivering body, becoming alarmed as he saw exactly how wet and cold she was.

She breathed his name so faintly. "Mal..."

"Warm as tea and toast in a minute, darlin'."

"Call me...Mrs..." her lips parted invitingly but she was so terribly cold.

"We have to get you out of these wet clothes."

"I...can't..." her badly chilled fingers moved helplessly over the silvery ties that criss-crossed the low-cut bodice.

He set about defeating all the arcane and mysterious clasps on the princess dress. He wrapped her in the blankets as he worked, taking care to preserve her modesty although she could not. It was impossible to avoid seeing everything, and though the few glimpses of her lush body clad only in exquisitely lacy underthings sent his desire to a fever pitch, he treated her with gentlemanly delicacy.

She was free of the icy dress - he'd removed her tiny slippers and drawn off the sheer, wet stockings that had covered most of her legs. Then he'd held her, wrapped in the blankets and the circle of his arms, in front of the fire until her shivering stopped and she knew herself once again.

She pushed back the blankets to free her arms and reach for him, her midnight eyes flashing in alarm when she realized he was much colder than she.

"Take this off," she insisted, pulling weakly at his wet shirt.

"Shhh, don't you worry about me." He stopped her hand with his own. It rested over his heart.

"Mal...you risked your life to save me...why? I'm such a pain in the ass!"

He caressed her face tenderly. "Yes, you are. But I love you."

Mal realized he was looking around for something to throw. Counterproductive, he didn't own anything that he didn't need. It was just so gorram frustrating to find himself in such a predicament. He'd already embarrassed himself with his imaginings, embarrassed and depressed himself as well. No way he could ever tell her, could ever let her see. Not being who he was, she being who she was. He fairly throttled the rungs of his ladder on the way back out of his bunk.

--

She had her kit; her needles, any color of thread she could possibly need; scissors, a seam ripper, hemming chalk, an array of thimbles - and nothing whatsoever to mend.

Inara had been on her way to bed, just checked Cortex messages out of a moment's idle whim. Chrysanthe. Indefensibly radiant, even to the eyes of her oldest friend. Inara returned the wave, letting Chrys and Radamus make it official.

Then it seemed that sleep was not something she would achieve any time soon. Thinking of how Chrys reveled in the joy of her news, there were too many feelings at odds inside her heart. Too many questions she never thought she'd lack an answer for. A family...a baby. So, the sewing kit. But even after a second, a third check, there was nothing in her entire stupid wardrobe that needed mending.

Inara remembered a warning of Kaylee's, the week before. "Don't slide your hand all the way in, this here part." She'd pointed to the web between her thumb and forefinger as Inara reached for an oven mitt. "It's worn through." Inara had asked Kaylee to pass her another, but even the best of the kitchen's stash was in sorry shape. "Cap'n don't use 'em," Kaylee had explained. "I think he prefers to burn his fingers and cuss."

So she found herself at the galley table, presiding over an array of triaged oven mitts and kitchen linens. There was a substantial amount of work to be done and plenty to kep her busy until her thoughts calmed and she could sleep.

She heard footsteps approach, stop when he got close enough to see her. "Figured you'd be abed by now," Mal commented, drawing closer to investigate her project.

"I suppose I'm not as sleepy as I thought." Inara drew a sturdy needle through a quilted mitt and pulled the thread taut before beginning the next stitch.

"You setting up shop? I split a pair of my pants last week." Mal gestured with his thumb, over his shoulder and back in the direction of his bunk.

"Imagine that." Inara kept her eyes on his as she stabbed the oven mitt decisively. "No, I don't intend to take up mending on a regular basis." She hesitated for a moment. "I got some good news tonight, and it made me - ."

"Business?" He approached the table, his eyes on her work.

"Pardon me?" She pulled another stitch taut as she watched him seat himself in the chair opposite her.

"Is it ...business related? Your good news? Somethin' with the Guild or a - client?" Mal had appropriated a stack of towels Inara had just sorted, and was idly flapping them against one leg.

Inara watched her needle emerge from the thick fabric. "No, it's - my friends Chrysanthe and Radamus. The couple who married recently?"

"Yeah, the humble fella with his own flying ice planet." When she didn't respond, Mal continued. "They havin' another fancy shindig or somesuch?"

"A baby."

Inara was intent on her sewing during the conversation, but she apparently didn't miss the exhaled noise of surprise Mal made in reaction to her last, very softly spoken words. She looked at him with what he knew to be her practiced look of tranquility.

"Would you care to translate that snort into a recognizable human utterance?"

Mal raised both hands in a placating gesture. "Nothin', I'm just - that was fast."

"Chrys has always wanted children." Inara doubled the knot at the end of the mended seam, and snipped the thread decisively.

Mal smiled slightly. "Imagine that's rare, in her line of work."

Inara set her mending down, smoothed the fabric with one graceful hand. "Why would you imagine that?"

"Well." Mal nearly coughed in disbelief at having to explain the obvious, but there was something in him that wouldn't let it go. "Seems like a Companion's top priority would be to keep herself all perfect and" his hands waved vaguely in the air around him, "desirable."

"A client who's simply in the market for perfect and desirable can commission an erotic arts bot. The best ones are incredibly realistic. " Her tone was airy but the way she echoed Mal's words made them sound shallow. Foolish.

Wait. "How d'you know? About the bots?"

A raised eyebrow over a disturbingly direct gaze was all the anwer he got.

Hold on, there was an argument here, and she wasn't getting out of it by mentioning sex bots. "You can't tell me a Companion is gonna let herself get all - " Mal found himself waving his hands around again. He stopped himself. "All - "

"Worn out? Unattractive? Matronly?" Somehow she kept her voice sweet even while it was dripping scorn.

"Well, yeah!"

"You're merely betraying your own shallow ideas." Inara snapped her sewing kit shut and rose from her chair. She turned her back on Mal as she marched to the galley and stowed the mended linens.
"Hold on, that's not what I think! Tell me the Guild don't have some kind of parameters for -"

"The Guild has a very comprehensive plan for accomodating those Companions that choose motherhood. The level of care, for both mother and child, is second to none -"

"I bet they're accomodatin' as hell, long as you can keep your - "

She whirled to face him, her silky robe dancing around her curves. "What do you think this body is for, Mal?"

Ta ma de, she'd be the death of him! He had enough desperate thoughts on any given day, hell, at any given moment, about the woman before him without her prompting him on the subject. Days it would take him, days or weeks and he'd spend them gladly, finding out exactly how she responded, what she craved...Craved. His own traitorous mind flashed an image of Inara, lush and goldenskinned, blooming with child...probably craving cherries or lychee or whatever was most nigh impossible to come by in the Black...

And it would never be him. Could never be. Another image, and he compelled himself to see it in full: Inara again, torturously beautiful, her body rounded with the baby within. Smiling and serene. Taking her ease at home, some rich man's elegant home, secure and content. A faceless, doting husband, spoiling her, amusing her, seeing to her comfort. A life like her friend had. Like she ought to have. Happy.

Mal pushed the realization from his mind - didn't bear dwelling on - and repeated his earlier protest. "What you said - that ain't what I think. A woman in the family way..." He gave up defending himself. Let her think what she damn well pleased about him and what he wanted. Never going to be a factor in their arrangement anyway.

She was still watching him, the challenge plain on her face.

"I know what it ain't for," Mal muttered, almost to himself. "Commerce. Trade. Offering up a substitute for the real thing, to them what can afford it and don't mind an imitation."

"An imitation? Of what?"

"Of love." The words were out before he'd considered them. He almost winced at the emotion in his own voice. Decided he'd better brazen it out. "You conversant with love?" It wasn't fair, Mal knew it wasn't, knew it today more than ever. Still.

Inara shook her head in resigned bitterness."You assume I'm not, since I'm -"

He was out of patience. "Why are you here, Inara?"

"I'm here because you have an enormous man to rescue, and you didn't mind upsetting my plans."

"No, Inara. Why are you here? Tonight - on Serenity? Thought you might indulge in some of the more festive revelries this evening. Or do you have no inclination when there ain't coin exchanged? Is that it? Are you really that cold?"

"Of all the hypocritical, presumptuous, - you are the most incredibly vulgar - first you heap scorn on me for having sex, now you find fault with me because I chose not to -" Inara glared at him, then laughed for a short, bitter moment. There was an edge to her voice, and something more, when she continued. "I might ask you the same question, Malcolm. Don't tell me you didn't have any other option tonight, I noticed a certain young woman who was anything but...cold."

A tiny part of him wondered how it was she'd seen what had passed between him and Jolly today. Must be another Companion power, he decided. Keeping track of everyone's - inclinations. Everyone's weaknesses.

"Girl's got some ideas - she knew me from before the -" Mal's voice was suddenly calm. "I got the same name and face as the man she fancies, but that's all. I got little, and not the precious kind of little, to offer her or any woman. Don't care to be an interloper."

"I see." Inara's voice had gone soft, a little grave. She paused, glanced toward the galley. "Would you care for some tea? I was considering making some just now."

"And sympathy?" Mal smiled a little wryly.

"Well," Inara considered. "We're the only ones of the crew passing this night in abstinence - we might allow ourselves something enjoyable."

"So they're all enjoying a night," Mal smiled broadly, "of sweaty rapture under the stars and we're indulging in tea? That's all kinds of pathetic, darlin'." He should know. Carrying on as he had. He'd found something out today, something he should have known a long time ago. Not a comfortable discovery but he'd live - with or without her he'd live.

Inara was watching him very intently. Her voice was soft. "What did you have in mind?"

Mal strode purposefully into the kitchen and started rummaging around in compartments Inara hadn't known the existence of. A minute later, he emerged with a sizeable bottle, corked at the top and slightly dusty. He checked his steps and returned quickly to the galley for two glasses, which he waggled at Inara.

"Sweet plum wine!" He turned the bottle so that she could inspect the label. A pair of cartoon plums, made up to look like round-faced, tipsy geishas, festooned its surface. They grinned encouragingly at Inara.

"Mal, sweet plum wine is an exercise in sugary bad judgement for a 14-year-old. Why do you - "

"Mechanic I had for a spell before little Kaylee - he left it. His strategy didn't run to courting the more...discerning ladies."

"Ah." Inara had heard all about the young man with the tattoos and the...other tattoos.
"So, what does this particular vintage have to recommend it?"

"Alcohol, darlin'." Mal poured them each a dark, only marginally translucent glassful."What'll we drink to?"

"To Tug and Jemmie," Inara replied after a moment's thought.

"Well said." And after a soft clink of their glasses, they both drank.

"That was...memorable," Mal observed, rubbing at something sticky on his upper lip.

"The worst part is having to wait for it to ooze down the side of the goblet," Inara chuckled with a not-altogether-feigned shudder.

"I'd say the worst part's the taste, myself." Mal eyed the bottle with a grin. "But we've toasted the good fortune of my friends, only right to raise a glass to yours." He refilled both glasses, raised his across the table to Inara. "To...Chrysanthe and Radamus and their little blessing-on-the-way."

"They both drank. "Truly horrifying, this stuff." Mal held the bottle up to the light, trying to see how much was left.

Inara nodded. "I have some rice wine in my - "

"Don't even try it, woman," Mal warned, mock indignant. "I am not some man," he shook his head for emphasis "of loose morals to be plied with alcohol and exploited for your dark desires." Drinking in her shuttle on an empty ship, maybe side by side on that soft little couch, no dented wooden table between them - not a good idea, Mal judged. Then again, neither was hanging around with her all night. But she didn't seem to be mad at him at this exact moment, a rare state of affairs, and he found he liked it.

"Ah, you've thwarted me - more's the pity." Inara shrugged airily. "But if it reassures you as to the safety of your manly virtue, I could go get the wine and return here to neutral territory."

"No, no, I'm hosting this fine soiree, I'll provide the spirits." Mal returned to the galley and retrieved another bottle and fresh glasses.

He pushed the plum wine to the far end of the table. "Whiskey?"

Inara nodded and accepted the glass. "Why did we start with the sweet plum wine?"

Mal shrugged. "Didn't know if you liked them sweet, girly - " his explanation trailed off as he watched Inara drain the shot glass, then set it on the table with the utmost delicacy. "Reckon not." He swallowed the whiskey in his glass.

Inara was in possession of the bottle. She beckoned, with one pretty pink finger, and he passed her his empty glass. She passed it back, full, and raised hers toward him.
"To Serenity."

They drank.

"That ain't what I think." Mal found himself explaining some time later, after toasts to the Powells, Kaylee, Zoe and Wash, Jayne and wild women, and the newly mended oven mitts. "I don't think womenfolk are less...when a woman's in the family way, I mean, she can still be all kinds of...'

"Chrysanthe has never looked more beautiful. And Radamus is - so happy." Inara smiled, remembering her friends' faces on the wave. She shook her head with a fond little laugh. "Giddy over it, I think Chrys was actually sitting on his lap. As if they had to" Inara made a waving motion inward with both hands, "huddle together to see me on the cortex screen."

Mal stowed the empty whiskey bottle in the galley. "Your friends are quite the pair of lovebirds, as I recall."

Inara nodded, then her eyes danced in amusement at some memory. "Not only my friends, Captain. Your pilot gave me quite an impressive recitation of his hopes for tonight, during our turn at the dance."

Mal remembered his last conversation with Wash. "The hammock?"

"Indeed." Inara smiled with affection at the memory. "And a very thorough catalog of all that is admirable about Zoe."

Wash hadn't been the esiest man to dance with - he kept trying to catch glimpses of his wife, several partners down the circle. " We didn't have a big wedding like this. But someday...maybe an anniversary party...it'll be a blowout with fireworks and music and dancing and wine and a panda and lots of...finger food...I love watching her eat with her fingers...Have you noticed her fingers? She has the sexiest fingers and she does this thing with her mouth that..." Wash staggered against her as they advanced their steps, side by side. He dropped one of her hands to clutch his brow. "Run-tse duh fwotzoo, I'm getting dizzy just thinking about it."

They circled around one another, in time to the music. "She's a lucky lady."

"I'm the lucky one, I had a hell of a time getting her to take me seriously. Or take me at all." Wash's eyes twinkled conspiratorially. "We're staying in the orchard tonight." He was nearly singing in his excitement. "Got our own sweet little canopy set up, with a big hammock inside..." Wash looked down at Inara curiously as she reached for the hands he'd extended above his head.. "Hey, you're not as tall as I thought. Is that some kind of Companion magic? Did you take a class in...Social Tallness?"

Inara shook her head and laughed a little. "That was not among the course offerings during my years of study, no."

"We're taking some kind of wagon ride through the orchards to where we'll sleep tonight. Chilly night - she's going to need some snuggling. Which leads to canoodling, you know. And me - I'm planning on being at the peak of my manly attractiveness...by lantern-light, under the starry sky...Here we go!" Wash lifted her through the air, setting her down with a little bow.

Inara curtsied in return, circled around him for the next steps of the dance. She squeezed the hands he offered, and smiled at her friend. "It's a good night to be in love."

Wash looked suddenly more alert. "Hey, what about you and Mr. Welcome-to-My-Private-Paradise-and-By-the-Way-I'm-Gorgeous, eh? You can tell me, I won't breathe...well, yes I will. Of course I will. I'm all about the breathing. But c'mon, tell anyway, it'll be fun!" He grinned, all manic encouragement.

"I'm staying on Serenity tonight." Inara offered a simple shrug, a tiny shake of her head in response to Wash's friendly incredulity. Garrulous as he was, she knew he wouldn't push her to explain herself if she seemed reticent. Perhaps she only imagined it, but she thought she saw understanding in the pilot's eyes.

When their dance ended, Inara bade Wash good night. "And give Zoe my best."

"I will," he nodded, grinning, "in between giving her my...best."

Inara could hear him chuckling long after he'd greeted his next partner.

"We'd better call it a night, dawn's coming fast," Mal called from the galley. He washed out their whiskey glasses and dried them quickly.

Inara rose and went into the galley with him. "You might like to have some of this tea I'm making."

Mal smiled "Was your momma by any chance frightened by a teapot when she was carrying you?"

"Yes, that's it exactly." Inara giggled a little at his expression. "But this particular tea is quite beneficial at the end of an evening of...indulgence."

"Secret Companion Hangover Tea?"

"Super Secret Companion Hangover Tea," Inara clarified with dignity, retrieving a small packet from her storage compartment. "Its taste is quite...singular, but I can assure you, it is effective."

"Singular?" Mal looked at the dried leaves dubiously. "That doesn't bode well."

"This from the man who opened the evening with wine made from cartoon plums."

Mal watched her fuss over the pot, the cups, the water, until she pressed a cup into his hands. He sniffed at the steam rising from the murky liquid. "You sure you didn't accidentally fetch your Super Secret Companion Poison?"
Inara blinked and lifted her cup. "Just drink it, Mal."

They drank, and Inara cleaned and dried the pots and cup. "Thank you for keeping me company." She placed the cups on their shelf.

"I'll walk you home before I - turn in," Mal offered. Inara shook her head, started to speak, but he continued. "Never let it be said that I allow intoxicated ladies to roam the ship unescorted and break their necks on my staircase."

Inara retrieved her sewing kit and fell into step beside him, looking amused. "And what about your neck, on the way back down the stairs?"

"My catlike agility has yet to fail me."

"I see."

"It's also the case that I am a paragon of sobriety compared to you, Miss Serra."

"How so?"

"Whiskey's going to affect you more than me." He remembered their dance, lifting her through the air. "You're just a little bitty thing."

"I'm a thing? A drunken thing?" Inara sighed. "What a charmer you are, Captain Reynolds."

"I-" They had reached the shuttle door. "Good night, Inara." He had turned to the steps when he heard her voice behind him.

"Mal, wait." He turned to her again, slowly, puzzled. Trying mightily not to entertain any sort of wild conjecture whatsoever.

Saw Inara cross to him, right in front of him, looking sweet and sleepy. One hand came to rest on his shoulder, for the second time that night.

"Good night." Inara was smiling. Smiling at him.

She rose on her toes, another dance. He felt her shining eyes meet his.

And while he stood still, not trusting himself to move at all, maybe not able to move, she touched his cheek, so very softly, with her lips. Inara kissed him. Kissed him, then turned and crossed the threshold into her shuttle alone.