Inara moved through her shuttle, putting away her sewing kit, storing her gown and her jewelry, bathing her face and skin, dressing for bed. How quickly her desire to fight with Mal had evaporated, in the face of his honesty, in the unspoken sorrow behind it. She wondered if he expected to be alone for the rest of his life. She wondered if he asked himself the same question about her. If someone had asked her, she didn't know what her answer would be.

It had been a pleasant evening, the sweet plum wine notwithstanding, Inara thought as she looked through her wardrobe for something suitable to wear for the morning's ceremony. She pulled out a simply cut red gown and retrieved a cloak to wear against the morning's chill. Inara moved to her jewelry cabinet, intending to choose the pieces she'd wear the next morning. Her eyes fell on a pair of understatedly elegant gold earrings. The birthday present from Janisch. Inara had long considered him her favorite client; he was inarguably a wonderful lover. She realized she couldn't remember the last time he'd crossed her mind. Inara steadfastly refused to contemplate the meaning of that as she slipped into bed.

She glanced at the door. Closed, not locked. She hadn't felt the need - it had been a long time since she felt anything but completely secure on Serenity. With Mal. At least with regards to her physical safety. She was entirely sure he would not return to her door, would not make an opportunity of their night alone together on the ship. She wished she weren't so absolutely, completely, and entirely sure.

She'd never encouraged him. Never, not in the slightest. Not him, with all his criticisms and suspicions of her career and her sexual independence. Not Mal, with whom she had a business arrangement that afforded her the freedom she liked and didn't want to jeapordize.

And she'd just seen his response to a woman who had encouraged him. She'd seen his response, and had been made to understand it, in a way that made her grieve for the loneliness and sorrow behind the matter-of-fact statement of his limitations. It was true, she admitted, what he had said: little, and not the precious kind, to offer any woman. He had chosen a life that was unpredictable and often dangerous. The man himself was uncompromising, brusque, thoughtless at times or even baldly unpleasant. He had no home beyond the battered cargo ship that carried them, and his sole ambition seemed to be to find work and keep flying. All of this was true, and Inara found she admired Mal for facing the truth so unstintingly. But she hadn't liked to hear him say it.

The kiss - he could hardly have been more surprised than she was herself. What lay behind the impulse? Inara didn't indulge herself in blaming the whiskey they'd shared. And, as drawn to him as she was, she could assure herself that the kiss itself had been completely chaste - no encouragement, no promise of intimacies.

Inara supposed it was a matter of offering, on what must have been a difficult night for Mal, the only thing she could offer - her regard, her trust. Her friendship.

-----------------------

She'd kissed him. He heard the whispered language of her gown, saw the door close behind her as she left him on the landing. Where she'd kissed him.
The gesture had been completely proper. No lingering touch, no sensual invitation, no reference to desire. Entirely decorous and genteel.

What the hell was that about? Mal started crossing through Serenity on the way to his bunk.

A few more drinks and Mal might have felt assured of blaming the whiskey. Some womenfolk get affectionate when they drink. Some menfolk do as well, he mused. But despite his teasing to the contrary, Inara hadn't been terribly inebriated.

They hadn't fought...well, they had. He'd actually been irritated with her for not taking to bed with Fin. For confounding his expectations once again. Why?

Because it's going to happen, his own mind responded. She's going to find someone she likes, someone she's going to choose, choose for more than just a client. Someone's going to make her smile like she smiled at the old lady; win her affection; win her shining heart. And you, with this damnable, pointless love in your heart; you're going to get to watch.

He'd rather she'd just go ahead and get it over with.

But then they weren't fighting. Mal found himself at the ladder to his bunk and descended the rungs as he remembered. They were talking. Laughing. Silly stuff. It had been nice. She hadn't needed to stay - she'd finished her mending project, and he'd seen her getting sleepy, pink cheeks and slow-blinking eyes.

He'd walked her to her shuttle - just wanted a little more time with her, a few more congenial moments to reflect on the next time he wanted to drop her at the closest port or she wanted to push him off the nearest cliff - and she'd kissed him.

He'd had passengers before; a few short-term tenants too. None had kissed him.

She hasn't been just a tenant in a long time, he admitted to himself. What, then? She's not crew...

She's your friend. Unlikely kind of friend for a bad-tempered old Browncoat to have, but there it was. And friends of any stripe or description, Mal mused, were not easy to come by in the Black. He didn't kid himself about how smart he was, but Mal wasn't stupid enough, most days, to scorn an offering of friendship. Life could get mighty empty for them that did.

Zoe didn't kiss him. Kaylee - well. Kaylee kissed everyone. Inara wasn't as kissy as Kaylee. Mal remembered watching her say goodbye to the fancified-looking young man on Persephone. She let him kiss her cheeks, her pretty hands, but she didn't kiss him.

He could try to be a friend to her. He could try, and he could hope that she understood what Zoe had known for a long time.

You are no longer anyone's idea of a cheersome man. It's you that's the pain in the ass. Always got to have your own way, always mad about something, always yelling about work to be done. Always some bother in your brainpan about...mostly about things that can't be helped and shouldn't be dwelt upon. Hopes that start and end with a second-hand Firefly class cargo ship. No plan for better days ahead, no fond dream of attainable contentment. Keep flying. Try not to die.

She'd seen it, had more than a nodding acquaintance with his...ways. Been on the receiving end of his mean-tempered mouth more than once. And kissed him just the same. He couldn't conjure why he hadn't managed to make her well and sick of him. She wasn't scared of him, that was for sure. Didn't scare easy, no matter that she looked like some kind of storybook princess.

She'd smelled so good. Like whiskey and perfume, and clean, warm, sleepy woman. Mal inhaled deeply, as if to recreate her essence in the air around him.

Inara was his friend. It was more than he had reason to hope for, and it would need to be enough.

-------------------------

It was bad enough to wake up with the first hangover of her life. Trust Malcolm Reynolds to be in possession of alcohol repulsive enough to defeat what she would from now on privately call Super Secret Companion Hangover Tea. But for him to have some kind of immunity to the wretched effects of the sweet plum wine, for him to bound up the steps to her shuttle, calling her name, those loud boots clanking...gods! Did the man actually mean to whistle all morning?

"Did me a world of good, that tea of yours." Mal smiled as he leaned through the shuttle doors to where Inara was still getting ready. "Are you near to set? We ought to leave soon, the sun's nearly up."

"I'll be just a few moments." Inara winced slightly as she fastened her earrings.

"You look fine to me right now." Mal clapped his hands together, rubbed them vigorously for some unfathomable reason. Oh yes, it made noise. "We don't want to have to run."

Inara opened her closet and retrieved a solar veil. The day promised to be appallingly sunny. "We could take the mule."

"Wouldn't get over the bridge. Besides, the walk'll get your blood pumping." He loomed into the shuttle, his coat rustling as he moved around and...breathed. Inara supposed she couldn't fault him for that, irritating as it was.

She found she needed to move slowly and with more than her usual deliberation - quick movements made her head pound and her insides ripple with nausea. Inara chanced a look at Mal - how could he possibly be so cheerful? He must drink poison on a regular basis, Inara concluded. It was the only possible explanation. She remembered the tacky geisha girl plums on the bottle's label and felt her throat closing as if in defense against the mere thought of sweet plum wine. Oh, this would not do at all.
And it was a long walk to the site of the wedding ceremony - a small clearing in the forest behind the homestead. Inara's arms and legs felt weak. Could she contrive a reason for Mal to carry her? That would be pleasantly restful, she could close her eyes, rest her head against his shoulder; he certainly...No.

Merciful Mother, what was wrong with her! Was she...sweating? Oh, this is beyond appalling, Inara fumed as she glanced at Mal. What was he reaching for? A ringing sound, silvery and delicate under normal circumstances, assaulted her ears. Mal had found one of Inara's anklets - one of her favorites, actually, a gift from Seneca, hung all around with beautiful little golden bells. Hring-ring-ring-ring-ring-ring, he circled one finger around and spun the anklet rapidly before catching it against his palm. The respite was beautiful, and far too short. Hring-ring-ring-ring-ring-ring-ring...

"Thank you." Inara caught the anklet as it traveled a merry orbit around Mal's fingers. She smiled at him. "I've been looking for this." She put it in a drawer.

He looked very handsome this morning. She wondered if that was just to irritate her.

This is not suitable - get a grip on yourself! You are merely suffering the unpleasant aftereffects of some overindulgence. You'll feel better soon. Inara remembered the headache remedy she'd had with her breakfast tea. She considered the techniques she might use to improve her disposition - what would a hung over client likely respond to?

Hours - several lovely hours - in bed. Soft light, perhaps some soothing music, playing very low. An open window, if possible, for a little fresh air. Regular servings of fruit juice, nicely chilled. Soothing words. And, when the recovery process is far enough along, sweetly restorative and thorough love-making.

With Mal.

Merciful Buddha! Had the plum wine disintegrated her brain entirely? Inara was mortified to realize that the object of her pathetically demented fantasy was fiddling with the jade cricket from her side table, making it hop across the couch.

"Mal?" The cricket froze mid-hop.

He returned the figurine to its place with an innocent look. "Got everything you need?"

Not even close. "Yes. Shall we?"

----------------------------------

He opened the door that let them out into the silky pre-dawn of the homestead. Hour One of the Friendship Offensive. Mal smiled kindly at Inara as he slammed the door shut behind her, pretending not to see her wince. Couldn't help himself, she looked so adorably wretched, hung over as she obviously was. To give her credit, she wasn't moaning about it.

Then who was moaning?

The noise was too - well - feeble to arouse much alarm, but Mal motioned Inara back to Serenity's door as a precaution. He advanced a few paces into the dark, and -

"Mal?"

He recognized the voice. "Jayne?" Mal stooped down to get a better look at his merc, prostrate in the grass near Serenity's hatch. He heard Inara come up beside him.

Jayne squinted. "That you, Mal?" His voice was weak.

"How bad is it?" Mal was turning to send Inara for the infirmary's med kit when Jayne spoke again.

"She - "

"It's just Inara here Jayne."

The big man shook his head and the grass around him quavered.

"She used me Mal." There was a transcendent wonder in his voice. "Used me like a beast of the field."

---------------------------

It had taken some time to get Jayne safely stowed in his bunk, trembling as he was. But soon enough Mal and Inara were on their way to the ceremony. As they crossed the meadows and neared the house they could make out other people moving through the yard, toward wagons and horses.

"Malcolm!" Tug's voice hailed him from out of the darkness. "A favor!"

"I'll oblige you if I can."

"Be one of my Bearers. Be my Traveller."

"I'd be honored." Mal thought about asking for a fast horse for Inara to ride to the ceremony, but he supposed he'd tormented her enough. He waved to her as she climbed into a wagon and leaned very discreetly against the upright plank bracing the side.

---------------------------------

The sight was actually quite stirring. Well-wishers arriving through the thick stands of trees, some walking, some on horseback, a few in wagons similar to the one that had brought her. A circle of people, growing larger as dawn approached. Or, Inara noticed, a near circle. There was a path carefully left bare. It led from under the trees to the middle of the clearing, and people lined it, watching the path expectantly. A few in the crowd were singing, songs that Inara remembered from the night before. A song might rise, fall, then be picked up again elsewhere in the crowd. The dawn was near - the grey light around them all was diminishing, warming to golden peach as the line of light above the trees grew in strength. The scattered, curling clouds above made the sky look like a foamy sea, captured in time as it surged to touch the land.

Someone approached on the path. The crowd began to sing, very softly. Someone had brought a flute, and joined its music with the singers, helping them stay in unison.

Inara saw the two families, Tug's and Jemmie's, make their way along the path. They reached the inside of the circle and spread themselves out into the crowd. Behind them came the wedding shelter, borne by six walkers. Tug and Jemmie themselves; Fin, Baby Bob, a neighbor woman that Inara recognized; and Mal. Each held a thick wooden post, beautifully carved to resemble a tree. The wooden roof-like framework above seemed to be made of individually crafted, wooden oak leaves, polished to a rich gleaming; they looked so vivid and real Inara half expected them to rustle in the breeze.

Someone squeezed her hand.

"Hey, you." It was Kaylee, looking sleepy and wistful.

She found herself watching Mal. Holding, carrying someone else's home. As he always did. For Kaylee, for Wash and Zoe, even for Jayne. For her.

Inara squeezed back. "I think it's starting soon." The dawn had overtaken the night. From out of the crowd came a young man Inara had seen the day before. Moving quickly, his thick brown dreadlocks bouncing against the colorful woven shawl around his shoulders, he climbed the small rise to where Tug and Jemmie and their Bearers had brought the shelter to rest.

"That's Ezra," Kaylee whispered. "Met him yesterday, he was inseminating some of the cows. Not personally, of course," she added after a moment. "Got this big glove, goes all the way up to his shoulder." She tapped her fingers against a spot high on Inara's arm to illustrate.

"And he's the...clergy?"

Kaylee nodded. "Well, Baby Bob says he makes the rounds of the different homesteads for blessings and such, guess it just makes sense for him to carry what's needed along with him. Community pitched in and got him a sweet little hover mule, great for wild land like this."

Ezra turned and addressed the gathering. "Mornin'!" He raised his hand - whether in greeting or to point at the sun as evidence, Inara wasn't sure.

The crowd answered back in the same fashion.

Her eyes found Mal again - had she seen him looking in her direction? The headache remedy had begun to work, and she felt much better, but her thoughts returned again and again to Mal. To the strangeness of their night together, to the fierce, guarded look on his face when she'd kissed him.

She heard Ezra call to the crowd. "What are we here to witness?"

They answered as one voice. "A wedding!"

"Who shall marry?" The young man's grin was nearly as brilliant as the dawn.

"Tug and Jemmie!"

Ezra's voice grew still more resounding, and he turned a slow circle as he addressed the whole community. "It is your duty to bless this new home with your support, to uphold their family as their Bearers keep right the posts of their shelter. Will you stand for them?"

The crowd's voice seemed to grow in strength. "As we do this day!"

Inara watched Mal standing at the post he held. This was the unavoidable truth about Mal - that he still stood for something. A man that refused to ask anything, anymore, of the universe around him, but still he stood for something. So convinced of the indecency of fate and power, of life itself, but so determined to be decent when he could. No power, only the strength of one soul that against all probability and reason refused to give up, compromise, die. She thought about him and felt something new stir in her conciousness.

Ezra spoke to Tug and Jemmie, though his voice was still raised to reach the congregation. "Will you marry your lives, this morning and always?"

The men answered. "We will."

Cheers rang out and Tug and Jemmie moved, alone, into the shelter. They spoke their vows in turn to each other, in voices amplified for their community to hear.

My only love,
My truest home
Across the sky
Under the sun

Mal has given me a home, a home that allows me freedom without questions. Every time I think I know what to expect, he surprises me. He takes care of all of us, but never seems to expect anyone to do the same for him. He seems to accept that there's no one to give back to him as he gives to us. I wish I could show him differently. Friendship. Comfort. Solace. Healing. Love.

My heart's own keep
My soul's one hearth,
Let me shelter
Let us not part.
And she realized her dearest wish would be to stay by his side, over every offered place on any world she could name. Stay by his side. Watch the grief, the loneliness fall away. Show him love, bring him back to life and hope.

Where you travel,
where you stay
my love abides in you.

I love him. Mal. I love Mal. I love him. He's in my heart, in my heart somehow. Mal, with his anger and his emptiness. Mal, isolated, unpredictable. Obnoxious. Thoughtless. Unless he's talking me through an anxious night; brushing off my own hurtful behavior; attending to my safety with a stranger aboard; wrapping his coat around me on an empty beach.

If you fly, fly back Godspeed,
If you turn, return to me.

So dear to me. Mal. Mal? How did this happen? Years of contentment, of genial, amiable relationships with lovely men. I knew men, knew all about men. I had...friends. Intimate...friends. Passion? I was sure I was immune. The perfect Companion. So sure I'd be able to walk my path in tranquility. So sure I was different than every single one of my Sisters before me. So terribly foolish.

I have no home but you are there,
My home you shall forever be.

Sentimental nonsense. It's merely the effect of the wedding. Inara hadn't finished the thought when she named it a lie, close kin to the lies she'd been telling herself for a long time. When? How long have I loved...Mal? Loved a man who abhors the life I lead, who doesn't scruple to tell me so. Inara thought about his blunt and insulting words, hoping to shake her thoughts back to reality. Whore, he'd called her, more than once. And he was wrong. Wrong, rude...and completely uninterested, it seemed, in courting her favor. Inara was far better acquainted with the opposite scenario - a man who'd say anything to ingratiate himself to her, to win her preferment. Hurtful as his words were, Inara grudgingly respected his stubborn honesty.

She knew he wanted her. Knew he wasn't going to dissemble in order to get close to her. At least not emotionally. No, no manners necessary, just barge into my shuttle and now, apparently, into my heart. She was irritated to find herself smiling at the thought of him playing with the jade cricket. This is not a smiling matter. He'd tell me so himself. A scarlet blush stung her face as she imagined Mal knowing the truth. Smug. There would be gloating. She imagined him stretched out on her couch, a satisfied smile on his face. Or worse, pity. Another vision - his sorrowful face, hands folded together, shoulders slumped in regret. In the same defeat she had seen the night before. She felt overheated, in a quiet panic suddenly, and found herself shivering as though feverish in the cool morning air.
"Are you wed?" Ezra asked when they had finished.

"We are wed!" Tug and Jemmie joined hands and shouted their answer to their assembled family and friends, and kissed as the crowd roared back its congratulations. A few people, bearing tools, strode forward and began helping the two men dig postholes and settle their shelter into the ground.

The light touch on her hand startled Inara. Mal? Kaylee. Kaylee, who had been at her side the entire time. Dear, openhearted Kaylee, who had never known a discreet impulse in her life. Inara hoped she hadn't given her thoughts away somehow. She turned to her friend, forcing her mind back to the world around her.

"Shall I inquire about your evening?" Inara's warm voice was nearly a whisper, intended only for Kaylee. She put her arm around the young mechanic.

"Oh, 'Nara, he's so....he's just..." Kaylee snuggled close to her friend. "It'll be a long time before I can look at a cherry without blushin', that's for sure."

They walked a few paces, following the crowd that had begun to stream toward the homestead. "Thought you'd be out there as well, you and Fin were together 'most all the day." Kaylee raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

Inara shook her head, smiled with practiced tranquility. "We were not fated to be." She knew that Kaylee wouldn't pursue her reasons. Her friend accepted people as they were, one reason Inara loved her so.

She found herself scanning the crowd. Mal was nowhere in sight. Her eyes landed on Wash. He was weeping openly as he walked arm-in-arm with Zoe. Inara meant to look away but found she could not as he raised one of his wife's hands to his lips and pressed a fervent kiss against the skin there. He turned her hand and closed his eyes tightly as he left a second kiss on the graceful stem of her wrist. For all the ardent love in his gesture, it was Zoe's expression that left Inara shaken. Soul-deep love mixed with wonder and, most moving of all, gratitude. Inara remembered the conversation from the day before; memories of a lifetime of love, and she felt certain Zoe was remembering too.

Soon they were at the homestead, saying their goodbyes. Inara had caught a brief glimpse of Mal, striding across the fields toward Serenity. Kaylee had left to say goodbye to Baby Bob, and Inara found herself alone with Fin.

"Glad you made it back in time...the both of you." Fin nodded at the path Mal had taken.

"We weren't...there is nothing..."

"Lass." His smile was kind. "I know."

Inara wasn't used to feeling this exposed. "How...What do you know?"

Fin gathered Inara's hands in his own. "If you had chosen him, and he you, he wouldn't leave your side, any more than I would. He'd be here with you now."
Inara considered how his hands looked, wrapped around hers. The beautiful day they'd shared. His gentle gallantry. "Thank you." She started out for the path, walking a bit behind Zoe and Wash, back to Serenity.

It was out of the question, of course. There could be no future for her and Mal. Their paths ran together now, but they would part. In pain, in sorrow. The hour was there, waiting for her. Inara knew it as surely as she knew her own name. She imagined looking out across a foggy landscape, seeing it, just a tiny blur in the distance, but there. The hour was there. Impossible to ignore. The hour she'd leave Serenity.

Pain clutched at her as she walked with an unfaltering step over the bridge and into the ship that was her home.