Happily Ever After
Happiness is hard to write. Arguments. . . Betrayal. . . Loss. . . Longing. . . Passion . . . All easy to describe, detailed in flashing eyes, raised voices, turned backs, touching mouths, groping hands. But real happiness is elusive, it doesn't tend to lend itself to fiction. It's comprised of daily chores and mundane conversations. Happiness is safety and stability, punctuated by a fear of loss, wondering how all this will end. It kills desire, and wanting is what keeps us alive.
"We all die alone. . ."
That's why they can't have each other. It's not his loathing for her career. It's not her fear of surrendering control. It's the knowledge that after that one bright moment, it will all fade into banality.
It's why fairytales end with happily ever after. Nothing left to say. No one wants to know that Cinderella got fat. That Prince Charming had a roving eye. It's why, ironically, the Little Mermaid was the luckiest out of all of them. Better to be foam upon the waves, better to fade to nothing, than to watch that happen to love.
They may not know these stories. Maybe they got lost over the course of the wars, the melding of nations, forgotten in the annals of time. But meta-narratives are never truly gone (the stories change shape . . . the characters get new names), the unspoken truths remain the same. After the story ends and the child puts down the book, the hero wonders if he should have gone to the next tower, kissed a different maiden as she slumbered. The heroine absently watches as the wet nurse feeds her brat and dreams of escape.
"It takes one pound of pressure to pierce human flesh. . . We're just that fragile."
They don't want that. They're creatures of the world, far wiser than the rest of the crew. Zoe deludes herself thinking a baby might make her husband into a real boy. Wash plays with his plastic dinosaurs and jokes, while doubt and jealousy consume him inside. Giants are notoriously hard to keep satisfied. Kaylee fantasizes about her city prince, while throwing herself at rim toads, dreaming that a kiss might transform them. Simon understands. Its not fear or refinement that keeps him from the mechanic. Maybe he has a bit of River's intuition, seeing the long draining future wading through the black. But he's young and while his mind pulls him in one direction, hope (the cruelest curse of the Gods, the last evil gift dwelling at the bottom of Pandora's box) pulls him towards her.
Mal and Inara are smarter than that. They know what lies on the darkside of happily ever after.
Deep underneath it all the lies, desire, and pain, Mal's glad that she's just a fancified whore. As he snarls, he watches the way other men look at her. He knows that never having had her, he possesses far more than they could ever buy. He can covet her . . . yes even love her (because he does . . . more than he'll ever say). As the years pass, he can lie in his bunk and dream of her. She will always be beautiful, strong, and proud. He'll never have to see her eyes dim, her flesh sag. He'll never have to watch as her fine silks turn to rags. He'll never have to admit what he's known all along, that he's not good enough for her. He'll never fail her. In letting her go, he keeps her forever, encased in glass . . . frozen in time. She will always be as perfect as the day she waltzed on his boat and he called her a whore.
Inara's mind is clear, but her heart. . . Well that's what hearts do, they break then they mend. She's tasted the fire, danced around it, warmed herself on the flames. Better to go now before the smoke suffocates her. If she stayed, they'd come together. And every day it gets a little harder to stay away. What if they did, if they finally gave into their heart's desire? What then? Passion, followed by awkwardness, which fades to regularity . . . happiness. He won't stop. There will always be another planet, another job, another woman. How long could it last before the wonder lust took him. Before she came to resent him. Mal is Mal. He would have her give up everything, leave her identity behind to become his. And then he'd hate her for it, more than he claims to now. Never change your life for another person. That's what the fairy tales always forget to say.
So they stand at the end of Serenity's deck, looking into each other's eyes one last time. Last chance to turn back, to play the game everyone's destined to lose. They smile sadly staring into each other's eyes one last time (maybe their lips barely touch). They embrace and hold on just a fraction too long. The release is mutual. She turns and walks away.
And (in each other's minds) they lived happily ever after. . .