Disclaimer: I am a mere follower.
A/N: Generally when I'm sick I try no to write because in the end it's all one giant crack fic and no one really wants that. But I didn't heed my own rule and wrote this. Post BDM (with BDM Spoilers), Mal's PoV, Mal/Inara—bit more than implied and character death (I'm sorry). Italics areFlashback
Mal doesn't know where to start.
He figures a reasonable man would start at the beginning and work his way over from there.
But Malcolm Reynolds ain't ever been a reasonable man so its fittin' that he starts at the end, turn it all about on its ear as he walks down the silent halls of his boat, the same grey-gloom settling in as it has countless times before without even bein' asked.
He figures this would be the second time death's made him turn to her, good guise to get things off ones chest he's learned.
He thinks she knows it too since she's already waitin' for him, with open arms and a bottle of rice wine. But he don't think he can handle his liquor right at the moment, not when he's already full-drunk on grief, stored and aged some, grief that's been tying his inners in knots since Haven, playin' cat's cradle with his insides the way Wash use to with his old shoe laces.
So Mal figures he'll blame the grief when he wraps his palm around her shoulder and tugs on her hair a little until she's so close he can drown in her: soft, warm, smelling like some fancy core plant that all them rich ladies adorn there gardens with.
Things were going real smooth, flying low, getting' paid, crew was gettin' on just fine, and Inara was staying. Yep everything was rose-colored except for the fact that the dinosaurs were gettin' a mite dusty from disuse and no one wanted to move them. He figured it was only a matter of time 'fore something ill came knocking.
"Sir, I think I'm pregnant."
That would be it.
She whispers something he can't make out under her breath right before he kisses her. It might be his name.
She's perfect, just like he always imagined she would be, but she tastes bitter and sharp, like the drink he refused and that spins his head some.
Simon told them it was gonna be a boy.
"You could name him Jayne." Jayne said at dinner one night. "Good name for a boy."
And Zoë had laughed; she'd been doing a lotta that lately. Mal han't been around too many breeding woman but he figured it wasn't wholly a lie when folk said they kinda glowed. Because sitting there at the table, Zoë was glowing all kinds of bright, one hand on her growin' belly.
Coulda put a star to shame, Mal thought, but he didn't tell her.
His fingers tug on the fabric keeping her skin from him, persistent as always and he doesn't stop till he feels her, golden skin that rises and falls beneath his touch. And he doesn't want to think about all the things he hasn't told her, the things he never told Zoë or Wash, the questions that were never answered by Book and the desire for knowledge that's gone bad in his heart.
Her hands are gentle on his face and she says something that rings softly in his ears, like a chime, and he wishes he could speak, wishes he could at the very least get his tongue to form words like he means it to. But Mal ain't ever been good with words and now won't prove to be an exception.
He figures that makes him a coward, just like hiding in here, in her, make him a coward. And that burns him as much as his silence and he wishes then he could walk away and do what he oughta be doin', but he just holds on tighter.
It had been eight months, two weeks and four days since she first told him.
She was getting along good, growing and healthy and, he might venture to say, a good deal happier. He had moved her out into one of the guest rooms so that she wouldn't have to climb up the steps with her growin' belly. Kept her safe, didn't let her go on the runs that involved guns—which ultimately meant she spent a lot more time on board. The dinosaurs on the instrument panel got dusted and one day he found her handling the T-Rex. "Do you think he'd mine if these got a new owner?" She'd asked in the same even voice she always put on.
"Wouldn't know myself, but then you married the man, so, you tell me."
"I don't think he would, Sir."
They made her a crib, and the girls strung up some dinos on a mobile that would hang over it. They put in the guest room and promised to move it to her bunk once she didn't have to take it easy no more.
Zoë looked fit to weep and it unnerved him.
She runs the pad of her thumb over his cheek, all soft and slow and he wants her to stop looking at him because he can't think straight as it is and she ain't helping matters none.
She opens her mouth again and speaks in such a tone so as to force him to understand. "Mal," she says and the words are warm against his skin. "I'm sorry." But he doesn't want her apologies. They're foolish anyhow. Wasn't no point in apologizing to him, wasn't gonna fix anything when the sky was falling and they were all caught up in it.
He didn't come to her for this and it's with that thought that he slams his mouth against hers hoping it will keep anything she's got to say at bay.
It was suppose to be simple.
It was just a mail dock, get in, get out. Nothing ever went simple though, it was a truth known whole 'verse wide, and Malcolm Reynolds had enough scars to prove it. He should have made her stay on the boat. Shoulda put his foot down and said there was no way in blue hell she was settin' foot off Serenity. But she had fixed him with her best glare, and Kaylee had been all bubbles and sunshine over the thought of going out and finding a few more things they'd be needing for the baby. Even River pleaded to go, "Knows proper technique now."
Inara had laughed then, saying there was no way he'd get out of it with his head and he'd crumbled.
Everything went good for the most part. Jayne got a letter from his ma, though instead of a hat there was five sets of colorful little booties. "Told Ma ya was expectin'." He'd said sheepishly as he passed the box off to Zoë. It was down hill from then on.
River doubled over and screamed seconds before Zoë hit the floor. From then on out it all passed in a haze, Doc said she'd gone into labor a week early and for the first time in near eight years, Mal prayed.
Zoë was screaming and River was screaming while Jayne stared from the outside. Inara and the Doc pushed them out and Mal had to give River a smoother to keep her quiet. And all that while, little Kaylee sat in silence crying; clutching the battered booty box in her lap.
Time has a way of blurring on a man, confusing him till he don't know where to start or where to end. Mal's been out in the Black long enough to learn that all time was really relative, didn't matter none when you were flying. It was a contradiction, that's what time was. It went from non-existent to all important in a blink.
Mal kisses her, and thinks of this, and when she says his name again he thinks it tastes like tears.
There were complications, Doc explained. His eyes were red and his hands were red from where he'd scrubbed the skin raw. Kaylee started crying all over again and Jayne walked out of the room and River said something in Chinese he didn't have the strength to translate.
There were complications, Doc explained and Mal walked right on by him and into the infirmary.
He lays her down and Mal doesn't think about the hundreds of men and women who've had their way with her in this bed. He looks down at her and sees the dark trails and smudges left by kohl and shadow and tears, her lips swollen and raw. Her skin is bruised where his hands held her and she looks like a china doll, all broken and undone.
Then the world's blurring before his eyes and her hand is soft against the back of his neck. She draws him to her, holds him close and Mal tries his hardest to hold on while sorrow crashes through him in repeated waves.
Inara was holding the baby. Little bundle of grey cloth with a red face peeking out at him.
Zoë's eyes were closed and she was real still and there wasn't a single noise in the room.
Mal took her hand. "I'm sorry, bao bei."
He doesn't know if he sleeps at all but it feels like no time at all has passed when he finds himself walkin' down the dark ramp to the guest room.
Simon's in there, monitoring his patient, jumpin' a little in his chair when Mal walks in.
"Like a moment alone, if it's alright, Doc."
Simon walks out silently, stops to tell him everything is stable. Mal settles into the chair Simon left vacant and closes his eyes tightly. He hears her walk in not too long after.
"Zoë didn't get to name him." She says quietly, coming to stand over his shoulder, peering into the cradle, fingers moving out to spin the mobile over the sleeping infant.
"You lookin' mighty happy there, care to share?"
"It's nothing Sir; just got a name is all."
"So you settled on one then? Well let's hear it then and please let it not be Jayne."
Something stirs in him then, looking down on the newest member of his family. Zoë's gone now, and there isn't any way he'll be gettin' on the same without her. It's like loosing a piece of himself, something deeply rooted and vital. He'll get on though, he has to. Has to make sure this little bit of her and Wash was looked after, kept safe from the mean things that filled the 'verse. He has something new and dear in his care and he knows he's gotta hold the sky together so long as this little thing needs a home.
"No Sir, not Jayne." She corners of her mouth twitched upward in a faint smile. "Derrial Washburn."
"Sounds like a fine name to me."
Her hand lands lightly on his shoulders but he doesn't turn to look at her. Instead he reaches back, covering her hand with his, and talks to her for the first time that night.
"She did."
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End
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