A/N: Go figure the only day I have time to actually buckle down and write is when I am forced to take a sick day. Anyways, this chapter is different in terms of timeline. While most have been slightly scattered, this one is definitely a future chapter. A nice little 'what-if', in Mal's head. Enjoy. :)

But She Can't Cook

.five. : mama

He could watch her all day and not feel as if a single moment had been wasted.

Sure, some could argue it was her fine looks and attractive figure that drew him to her, and initially, perhaps it had been. Malcolm Reynolds had met plenty a woman who was a pretty face and a promised night of fun, but not always were they able to capture him the way Inara Serra could. It didn't matter that she was as swollen as a hot air balloon, waddling around the kitchen with an exasperated look about her lovely features. She was annoyed with him, stubborn like always and refusing his help. It was funny enough watching her try and maneuver the kitchen when she wasn't one month shy of giving birth to a sprawling babe.

Mal couldn't help the obnoxious smile that played amongst his lips as he looked on at her struggling. She had one hand pressed into the arch of her lower back, and another protectively resting on her rounded belly. Her breathing was labored and her fingers were clumsy with the pots and pans, and every time she dropped one, it was quite the mission for her to get down and reach for it.

"Yúchǔn de yīkuài gǒu shǐ!" she seethed, the sling of curse words proving to be very unlike her usual well kept demeanor.

She strained to reach the clatter on the floor, her protruding belly very evidently in the way more than she would have liked. If Mal paid close enough attention, he would hear her blaming him for all of it, and she wouldn't have been entirely wrong for saying so, either.

He grinned before poking fun at her; "It takes two to tango, darlin'. You know that better than anyone."

That was how he'd ended up at the receiving end of a very heated, angry glare. If looks could kill, he'd have been a dead man thrice over.

Strangely enough, that was when he seemed to recall a funny piece of advice that the ever proper doctor had given him what felt like ages ago. It had only truly been a couple months back during a routine check-up on both mother and baby, when Mal had made a joke in bad taste. Inara had not been impressed with him at the time, and Simon had taken it as an opportunity to bestow upon the captain some much needed wisdom that only a veteran would truly know.

"Never upset a pregnant woman, Mal. Especially one with a weapon nearby. And I don't only mean guns and sharp objects; it could quite literally be anything within arm's reach," he'd told him.

Huh. Wasn't she reaching for a frying pan just now?

Mal stood up as quickly as the realization had dawned on him, and made a grab for the kitchenware that his lovely, pregnant, scowling lover had been meaning to throw square at his head.

"Woah, now. No need to be gettin' tetchy, qīn'ài. Why don't I just get that for ya instead?" He said, moving away at a safe distance with frying pan in hand.

When he extended his other free hand towards her in an effort to help her stand up again, she slapped it away angrily, and used the counter for leverage.

"Just get out of my kitchen, Mal," she commanded with a shaky voice, appearing uncomfortable and frustrated with her unsteady gait.

He put the frying pan down behind him, feeling a touch guilty at her emotional deterioration. He hoped and hoped against any crying; he of course had a pretty bad weakness for it as it was. He'd sooner be at the merciless, wrinkly hands of Niska again than suffer Inara's tears.

When he found his voice, it was soothing and calm; "I ain't goin' anywhere, 'Nara."

Her bottom lip was quivering, even though she was trying so hard to stay mad at him. He then reached for her shoulders, tentatively, not quite sure if she'd push him away again. It was always so hard to tell whenever she got this way.

Her hand came up to her face, shielding her eyes from him, and he knew, in that moment, that the waterworks had started. He pulled her into him, not hesitating for a minute, and she grabbed at his shirt, shaking in his arms. He held her there, running his hands through her soft, dark curls while hushing her with comforting words as best as he could. The first few times she'd broken down like that before him, he hadn't the slightest clue what to do. He'd either leave the room, as she'd often request, or attempt to embrace her. Neither ended well. She'd either be furious with him for abandoning her in her condition, or would beat him off of her if he attempted to hold her.

But Mal was nothing if not adaptable. Eventually, he understood, albeit not without some help from a squirrely mechanic that was already a mother of two.

"It don't matter none, capt'n. She could be cryin' 'cause she lost her favourite spoon or 'cause she don't fit into any of her shiny clothes no more. Point is, she'll fight ya at first, but in the end, she really just wants you there. Leavin' her alone is just about the worst thing you could think of doin'," Kaylee had explained to him when she'd caught him in a stressful moment after he'd had it out with Inara.

So, he'd taken her angry punches, and let her fuss if need be. Eventually she'd calm down in his arms, and all would be forgiven. At the end of the day, they'd both laugh it off and she'd admit to how silly the hormones were making her.

"How can I even feed him?" she hiccupped against Mal's chest, sniffling.

She wiped at her reddened nose and took in a gulp of air. "I can't even cook anything actually edible, the poor thing is going to starve out and I'm going to be a horrible mother," she confessed through bouts of tears.

So that's what it was about this time. Mal would have laughed if she hadn't been so serious. The woman was always ready to find the silliest reasons as to why she wasn't suited to be a mother, ignoring all the ways in which she would. If only she could see herself through his eyes for a day, she'd blush at all the ways he loved her.

"I don't think he'll starve, darlin'. I'm thinkin' he'll be at the teat a while still before he even gets at the mushy, packaged stuff. You got until his teeth start sproutin' to worry about him havin' any cooked goods," Mal told her, rubbing her back gently as the shaking slowly subsided.

She pulled away from him a little then, taking the chance to search his face with shining, red rimmed eyes. He tried a small smile, admiring the beauty in her tear streaked face.

"'Sides, he's still got me. I like to think I ain't so bad myself in the kitchen. My ma taught me all she knew, after all."

He knew he'd won when the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement. She wiped at her puffy eyes, and tried again. "I suppose you have to be good at something," she teased.

He feigned being offended by her jibe. "Hey now, I've got plenty talents you don't even know of!"

She giggled at his reaction, still sniffling at the remnants of tears. "I think its sweet your mother taught you how to cook. I bet you could do wonders with natural ingredients," she said sincerely, and with a sweet smile.

Protein could only ever get as flavorful. Back on Shadow, Mal had had a plethora of fresh ingredients in his home, and so creating tasty dishes had come quite easy for him.

"It's true; everybody loves a man who can cook," said Mal, not humbly.

He half expected her to nudge him with her elbow at his bold statement, but was pleasantly surprised with a tender kiss on the lips instead. She had grabbed a fistful of his shirt and tugged him towards her, planting her soft mouth onto his in a delicate embrace.

When they parted, she stayed a mere few inches away from his face, smiling up at him while he admired her with lusting eyes, seemingly caught in her orbit and unable to pull away.

"Mmm, I know I sure do," she purred contently, her arm snaking its way around his neck while she leaned in to his lips a second time.

He didn't even get the chance to tell her what a wonderful little mama she was going to make.

A/N: I like the whole teasing between Mal and Inara throughout the series, but it's also fun to write scenarios where they've gotten past all that and are finally just happy. This was definitely one of those times. As per usual, feedback is welcomed. :)

Translations:

Yúchǔn de yīkuài gǒu shǐ: stupid piece of shit

qīn'ài: dear