Disclaimer: I may love my Captain but he still belongs to Joss.
A/N: Tragedies have their good days but at the end of the day they're still tragedies. In other words, Mal PoV, VERY Post-BDM, Spoilers, Simon/Kaylee and Mal/ Inara. Read, enjoy, let me know what you think.
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She cried big ol' Cinderella tears when the Doc slipped that shiny rock of his onto her finger. Didn't matter none that the boy was bleedin' pretty badly from the head—he couldn't help but think Simon might pitch this whole thing on that wound later, for better or worse—or that she hadn't slept in near two days gettin' ready for the heist which had gone pretty much as expected: badly.
Well, at least he hadn't gotten shot this time.
So really it turned out to be a celebratory kinda day on Serenity, what with no shot wounds and Kaylee smiling like everything in the whole 'verse had just turned to strawberries and ruffles.
So they stood there, in the passengers common room, Simon and Kaylee hugging and such right in the middle, River bouncing on the balls of her feet, going on about knitting. Even Zoë mustered a smile for the occasion.
Then there was 'Nara—hell, it seemed as though there was always Inara—her dark eyes like weights pressin' down hard on his ribs, squeezing every last breath outta him even though her eyes never glanced in his direction.
She didn't eye the pretty band of silver on Kaylee's engine-worn hands and look at him. Their eyes didn't meet over the hubbub but by the Shepard's lord did his heart feel heavy.
Her eyes were fixed on the happy couple and there was blood on Kaylee's palms where they'd touched the wound on Doc's head, and he realized he'd never seen her cry before (Inara that was. He'd seen Kaylee cry enough times to know the difference between the sort of tears that could lighten a man's load and the sort were born because of it. At least he could credit the Doc with the fact that these were definitely the former rather than the latter).
But there she was, crying and laughing and smiling all at once, eyes rimmed red even as she pulled Kaylee into a tight hug. Couldn't help but note the smear of blood on her bare shoulder where Kaylee had rested her hand momentarily in all their huggin'.
"I know a tailor on Beaumonde who could make you the anything you wanted, meimei." Inara was practically glowin' as she brushed back a piece of Kaylee's hair. Mal tried not to wince that the image that popped into his head, little Kaylee, a walking heap of lace and silk and tulle, all in shades of lily white.
He couldn't begin to imagine 'Nara in a wedding gown, no matter how hard he tried. Couldn't conjure the image, just like he hadn't been able to conjure the image of Zoë years prior, because when he thought Zoë he though hip holster and shotgun and reliable brown leather.
Well Inara was just like that, only she was all red silk and crimson lips and garnet tear drops shining among impossibly dark curls. She wasn't the sort of woman who could wear white. In fact, Mal could almost snort at the notion. Didn't make him want to see it no less, mind.
Their little party quieted some when the Doc started to stagger, and then Kaylee was all over him again, only it was with gentle hands—and how was she ever gonna keep that little bit of shiny clean when she was elbow deep in engine parts?—and a quiet voice that's no less sunny. She helped the boy over the med bay where Zoë was quick with a weave and anything else Simon instructed.
Inara lingered after them, hanging just outside the doorway, and that smile of hers replaced by the smooth lines of her mouth as it settled into something a bit more somber even though her eyes were bright as ever.
"They're going to be very happy together." She said after a bit, in a quiet voice, and he would of liked to think there was as much envy in it as there was joy.
"Well, he's still liable to screw it all up." He flashed a grin.
"Mal." She didn't return it.
"Doc's got a track recor—"
"Mal stop it." She was dead serious then and her eyes seemed sadder somehow. There was a frown building at the corners of her mouth. "They're happy. They're going to stay happy because they want it bad enough. They'll try."
And he wanted to ask her when she'd become such a softy, wanted to know if she even remembered the hundred and one shouting matches Zoë and Wash had had, if she could hear the silence left in Wash's wake. He wanted to tell her trying didn't make a difference in hell sometimes, most of the time. Trying and wanting only made the crashing hurt all the worst.
But he didn't.
'Cause there was no mistaking the timber of her voice, the want that underlined it. No doubting the fact that if he spoke, she'd hear it too.
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End
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