A/N: Cosplay season is over for me, or at least I'm free to go at my own pace, so I should be able to make more time for writing. Rest assured, Sky Song is coming along seamlessly, and I expect to have it finished soon. With that, there will be a massive repost of Anything But Love. For now, have something short and sweet and sad.
Note: This would probably take place during Serenity (the movie), right around the time of Book's death.
But She Can't Cook
Mal knows Inara is a woman of many talents, but he's hell bent on finding something the companion can't do. A series of snippets where Mal thinks on Inara's endless skill set, and her single flaw. Mal x Inara pure, shameless fluff.
.three. : singing
It was not the way he would have wanted to know of it.
Heck, it wasn't the way any of them would have liked to stumble upon it.
Perhaps, gathered around a fire, fresh off a successful heist. Or, during a pleasant dinner conversation in those precious moments they'd all been gathered about, laughing the time away. Even whilst walking past her open shuttle, as she played with Kaylee's or River's hair, brushing at ease. All of those would have been happy times. Or, more accurately, it would have been a time when they'd all still been together, when they all could have enjoyed her secret talent. Then, maybe, she'd have also sung a different tune.
They would never receive such a luxury though, and the captain had been a fool for ever believing in it for more than a second.
Instead, after they'd desecrated Serenity with the blood and bones of all those they'd come to know and love, they gathered and sat at a quiet table, neither feeling for food or drink, unless it was of the alcoholic kind. Each one of his crew was lost in thought, and no doubt still hearing the melancholy tune, still witnessing the beautiful scene amongst all the ruin and the havoc in their tired minds. Every soul was very much aware of the empty chair at the table that night, as if for the first time, it was forever relinquished.
And all the while, Inara Serra danced about the mess in an effort to create something feasible for them to eat. Had it been a typical day, it would have been her turn in the week, and she'd picked it up as if she hadn't left the ship in the first place. The crew would usually stifle groans in anticipation for the burned protein they would no doubt be served. However, no one would audibly complain, except for maybe Jayne. Though Mal would silence him with a deadly glare, but tonight, not even the mercenary had the heart to jest.
Their hands were bloodied, soaked through to the bone, and they floated through space wearing death like a mark of triumph. Tonight, there was a silent respect. Not only for the dead, but also for the companion who had sang for their souls.
He could see her still, as if he hadn't left the scene at all.
She was a flash of red, bright and ominous against the drab colours of the planet, now scorched with fire and ash. The dirt kissed the ends of her long dress, and the wind tangled her ebony curls, as if to spread them across an empty canvas that was the sky. She was a contrast, standing there, very much alive amongst all the dead and all the rubble.
And she sang.
Her voice was small, yet it filled the emptiness. She started soft and low, and she carried stronger the more she walked. He watched her, much like everyone else did, transfixed by her. Who was he kidding; he was always enthralled by her, and now was no different. Only, this time, even the rest of the crew was summoned by her ethereal presence. River was the first to appear, tiptoeing gently amongst the bodies, drawn to the voice that beckoned her. Kaylee and Simon were next, followed by Wash and Zoe, and finally Jayne shortly after. They all stood still, watching, listening. Yet, she cared not for the spectators.
She stood in the wreck of the orphanage, where the bodies were thickest. Children. Most of the casualties there were young. So, she sang to them, her words foreign; a language long ago dead from Earth-That-Was. If the blood and the mangled limbs bothered her, she remained undeterred. Instead, she crouched down to them, laid a gentle hand on their eyes, and closed the lids that had remained opened in death. For a moment, however brief, she sang only to them, either by bending her head to their ear, or by keeping her eyes only on them.
Mal didn't understand the words, but didn't take long to realize that he didn't need to. Her voice was gentle, eerie, and the notes were tainted deeply with sorrow, like the voice of a grieving mother who'd lost her child. Yet, there was an odd peacefulness in her tragic tune. It intertwined so well, that it eased even his weary soul, and he knew that his crew also felt a burden being lifted, however small.
It was a final comfort, what she gave them. It was a chance for eternal sleep, to know peace, and to be sent to a new home, a promised one. Her voice was like cashmere against the skin, lulling everything into a calm, warm state, even the restless souls, the ones who were still struggling to let go. She eased their passing. They clutched at her, cried and wailed in agony, marking her skin with their blood, and still she persevered, hushing them until the pain would pass.
The wind whipped her face, drying the tears into salt stains against her skin. When she wiped at her brow, he saw her fingers shaking. And still she sang, not a single note askew. She hit the highs, she dipped the lows, and she faded out into a soft silence once she deemed her work done.
He was the first she'd look to, despite the betrayal they all felt for him. She turned and stared at him from across the distance. Her eyes locked with his, and she took in a deep, shaky breath whilst the wind splashed her hair across her face and made the red of her skirt swim in its current. No matter what, she didn't resent him, not even then. They were forgiving eyes. Unreal; she was something that would never belong.
She'd sung for the living, as much as she had for those long gone.
And they'd listened.
The effects still clung to them; like a spell weaved stronger the longer they basked in it.
Yet, she was the only one who remained unaffected.
That night, they would eat whatever it was she made, no matter how burnt or black or tasteless it was, ever conscious of the missing presence amongst them.
That night, she would place a plate before the empty chair, and no one would question it.
A/N: Head canon. Inara's got a beautiful singing voice. Plus, I don't think I've done a proper tribute to Shepard's death. I can only imagine how pained the crew was doing what they had to do to their ship, and how rough Mal had to be about it. It becomes important, I think, to display Inara's contrasting gentleness. She reminds him to stay human. Anyways, feedback is welcomed of course.