A/N: I realize it's been some time since I've updated this, but I have had this idea in my head for quite some time. Please, enjoy.

But She Can't Cook

.six. : yǒngqì

"Is that wife soup I smell?"

Wash sauntered into the mess, seemingly following his nose. He was immediately stopped in his tracks when, instead of his tall, beautiful wife, he was greeted by the sight of the broad shouldered captain working in the kitchenette. A look of confusion crossed the pilot's features as he opened his mouth to comment. At a loss for words, he closed it again and chose to say nothing at all instead.

Mal had turned to give him an acknowledging glance before losing interest and returning his attention to the boiling, steaming pot before him, stirring gingerly. Wash approached him hesitantly. Looking over Mal's shoulder and with raised eyebrows, he stared at the contents of the soup the captain was so preoccupied cooking. The scene was so unnatural and strange, it was throwing him off completely, leaving him utterly speechless. Then again, it really did smell good.

"It ain't wife soup," Mal remarked finally, still not bothering to look in Wash's direction.

After a momentary pause of more sputtering from the pilot, Mal confessed, "Zoe won't give me the recipe. Says it ain't gonna stay a secret if she goes 'round tellin' everyone who asks."

"That does sound like her," Wash conceded, finally finding something he could comment on.

Mal continued to stir with a delicate hand, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal thick, strong forearms. "This here was considered a delicacy back on Shadow. Ain't a cook on the planet didn't know how to make hero stew," Mal explained, bringing a bit of the broth to his mouth via the wooden spoon.

"Hero stew?" Wash asked, getting a long whiff of the delicious scent.

Mal nodded. He blew lightly at the small amount of hot liquid in the spoon before sipping it carefully. "The fresh ingredients are said to get any sick or ailin' folk back up to snuff. 'Course, that ain't exactly true, but it does taste pretty damn good, if I do say so myself."

He knew. In that moment, Wash knew. He couldn't help the guilt sweeping over him at the revelation, and he shrank back instinctively. It wasn't like Mal to voluntarily take up cooking, much less use up some of his own precious store of fresh herbs and spices in the process. Which meant that this went way beyond just a special occasion. With downcast eyes, Wash walked on towards the eerie light of the console room, opting not to make a much tempting joke about the entire debacle.

Mal seemed to be done with preparing the food anyhow, and, somehow, Wash had begun to feel like he was intruding. Under different circumstances, he'd have perhaps poked some fun upon catching the captain playing housewife; most especially the preparation of something called hero stew. But things on Serenity were still quite grim, and half the crew was still reeling from the impact the last caper had had. On a good day, making light of a matter that directly involved Inara seemed very unwise around the captain, never mind something actually serious.

It went without saying that he and Kaylee were taking it the worst. Wash could hardly remember when the last time was that he saw the mechanic in her usual chipper demeanour. Ever since the incident, she seemed to isolate herself to the engine room or her bunk. When anyone did catch her wandering the halls of Serenity, she was like a ghost; gaunt, weary, sullen. The life in her seemed somewhat depleted now, her smiles not quite reaching her unlit, tired eyes. Instead, they were red rimmed and puffy, evidence that the memories of the ordeal were still making the girl wet her pillow at night with tears she refused to let any of the others see.

No one knew what to say to her; they couldn't think of a single word of comfort that would magically cure the young girl of her guilt. No one could blame her for how she felt either, least of all Mal. At the same time, only one person on the ship could truly absolve her, but little Kaylee didn't seem to have the nerve to approach her just yet, and it was visibly eating her up from the inside.

But Inara never blamed her for any of it; that much everyone on the ship seemed to know, except Kaylee herself it seemed. Mal, on the other hand...well, Wash and the others knew that the captain had an uncanny habit of always shouldering burdens that weren't his in the first place.

"It was my decision, Mal," Inara could be heard telling him a third time after she'd awoken from the induced coma Simon had put her in.

The good doctor had still been apprehensive about letting the companion have any visitations after what she'd been through, but Inara had been adamant that she was perfectly fine. Not to mention, Mal was antsy, impatient even. He was doing that thing where he ran his hands through his hair a lot, mussing up the perfect chestnut brown strands with thick fingers. He had the telltale bags under his eyes and the vein at his temple would throb more often than not as of late. Wash could recognize the visible signs of a wearing down heart as easily as he could look into a mirror.

"It don't make it right," Mal had rebutted, not making good in this argument. It was showing in his tone of voice; gone was the confident reassuring tongue he usually held with his crew.

But Inara was not officially crew.

"I don't know what else could have been done. I just...I couldn't let them take her...," Inara had admitted, her voice small and defeated as she stared down into her lap.

Mal had shaken his head, taking a seat next to her blanketed feet on the stretcher. The words that left his mouth were a whisper of the trembling emotion he'd been feeling since he'd found her; "Didn't mean they could take you instead..."

Everyone on the ship knew that the captain had been torn on the matter. They'd all been there when he'd received the news from Kaylee's nervous lips, and been witness to his slow falling apart. They'd watched his smile whither, his eyes widen, his breath hitch in his throat as he tried to swallow the lump lodged within. He hadn't needed to even hear Kaylee speak before his eyes had searched the cargo bay for the companion, the same way Wash would look into the distance for the familiar silhouette of his wife.

Kaylee had come quivering anyways, her fingers knotting with one another in a nervous dance as she shuffled on out of her hiding spot. Her eyes had glistened with tears, the blood having dried on her upper lip and mingling with the soot that covered her fair skin. Her light brown hair had been a mess of tangles and knots, and it had been obvious from her appearance alone that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

"Th-they came in when you was gone...took us all by surprise, they did. I didn't think..." her voice broke, and she was forced to tear away her gaze from the captain's intense stare.

Mal's jaw muscles clenched, and he'd grabbed the girl firmly by the shoulders until she'd got it all out of her. The sight hadn't been a pretty one, but the urgency in Mal's tone was merciless, and rightfully so. This was Inara they were talking about. Inara, and Kaylee.

They'd taken her. They'd stormed the captain's ship, terrified the mechanic, knocked out the doctor, tied up the Shepherd, and locked River and Wash in their rooms before they'd even stood a fighting chance. Inara had been the only one they'd forgotten about, until they'd threatened Kaylee...Suddenly, the companion had decided to make them an offer they couldn't refuse, if only they'd leave the ship and its crew alone in exchange.

Mal didn't need to give the order; they already knew that they'd be going to rescue her.

"It was a bloodbath," Zoe would tell Wash later, in the privacy of their bunk.

She had looked grim as she stared blankly ahead, her vision glazed over with the image of the hideout they'd found their men in. For the first time, her husband didn't seem too bothered with the mention of gratuitous violence; "Good. Serves those bastards right."

Zoe had been initially somewhat shocked by his concession, but then she'd smiled in understanding and laced her fingers with his, resting her head on his shoulder.

Mal would spend all of his free time either in or around the medbay while Inara was out of commission. When he'd rescued her, he'd found her barely breathing, blood staining her silken dress, dark and sticky where it pooled. She lay limp and lifeless in his arms when he'd carried her onto the ship and, despite his injuries, he never faltered in getting her to Simon's table. Then there was the way he would look at her as she slept soundly; as if someone had condensed all of the beauty of the infinite universe and its stars, and somehow expressed it on her peaceful visage. It was like he would see her, and then nothing else...

"You were bein' stupid!" He'd yell at her later, in a fit of rage.

He had been angry, so very angry, but it was never with her. The type of man Mal was would dictate that the rage he felt was directed at himself, for nearly losing her permanently, for failing in keeping her safe from harm, for putting her in that position to begin with. She was hurt and he was to blame, and the journey to forgiving himself that sin was a long and arduous one. At least, that was how he'd see it, no matter that everyone else would tell him differently.

But Inara was a clever woman, and she knew when to pick her battles with the captain, and when to allow him his anger. So, she'd answered him with a question in a calm, gentle voice; "You mean your kind of stupid, captain?"

She'd mustered a small smile despite reopening the cut on her lip, and lucky enough, her mood had been contagious.

Hero stew, indeed, Wash found himself thinking with a light chuckle and shake of his head. There weren't a pair of fools more deserving of such a thing, except perhaps, his wife and him.

"I don't imagine you've had a proper, home cooked meal in years seein' as how your culinary knowledge is restricted to tea, so I whipped you up somethin' to warm up the soul," Mal explained as he entered the medbay with a piping hot bowl in his hands. He carried it in with a rag to keep his fingers from being burned, and the steam rolled off the red, watery contents in waves.

Inara smelled it before she saw it, mouth almost watering at the simple thought of fresh, real food, and she'd first assumed she'd only imagined it.

"You made it yourself?" She asked him with mild disbelief, a single dark brow arched up in question as she studied the disheveled man approaching her bed.

Mal responded with an incredulous look. "Sure as hell ain't bought from a store if that's what you're implyin'."

Inara closed her eyes and sniffed the delicious aroma. "Mmmm, it smells divine! Is that fresh parsley?"

Mal settled in the chair next to her as she struggled to sit up, grimacing in mild discomfort from her still healing wounds.

"Careful; it's a mite hot," Mal instructed her when he carefully handed over the bowl of soup.

He watched her lift a spoonful of the broth to her lips and then blow at it softly to help cool down some of the steam. In anticipation and with bated breath, he waited for her to take the first sip of the fruits of his labor.

"Mmmm, it is fresh parsley...," she finally said after drinking the faintly red tinged liquid from the spoon.

Mal exhaled, and managed a genuine smile.

Eyes glowing, Inara turned her attention to him and asked, "Where did you manage to come by all of these rare ingredients?"

Mal shrugged it off. "Had a couple of things lyin' around that I hadn't the chance to use yet. Figured now was as good a time as any."

Inara was already on her fourth spoonful when she confessed to him; "Never thought I'd actually say this, but I think I could get used to you taking care of me, Mal."

The rare compliment from her very nearly took him aback. Instead, he managed to keep his composure and spoke truthfully; "Hero stew was always somethin' folk on Shadow would make for ailin' kids and spouses, and they called it so to make them feel courageous."

A sly smile crept along her sensuous mouth, and she watched him with a glint of mischief in her large, dark eyes. "You'd have made some pretty village girl a loving husband, I'm sure," she teased, but there was something less jovial hiding in the way she'd said it.

She'd expected him to laugh perhaps, but the remark only seemed to crease his brows, and he looked anything but entertained by her words.

"I'm fairly certain I wouldn't make anyone a good husband. Besides, the last so called 'village girl' I married tried to kill me twice," he reminded her, his lips thinning into a tight, angry line.

For some reason, there was a brief sense of relief that washed over her once he'd said that. Not so much the husband bit, but the part that he'd have no interest in a simpler girl.

"With that said, many of the hands on the ranch would joke that I'd be better suited to a woman who don't know her way around a kitchen at all. They were teasin' me, I know, but I guess what I'm saying is you're lucky someone on this ship knows what to do with a few fresh ingredients," he smirked at her before she had the chance to recover from the warmth rising to her neck and cheeks.

She'd never figure out whether the sudden wave of heat overcoming her body was from the hot soup in her lap or Mal's sudden flirtatious demeanour and handsomely charming expression.

A/N: Almost no Chinese this time around. The title is in Chinese, and translates to courage, if anyone is wondering. I may yet expand this piece into a one-shot, but not too sure if I've enough material to fill up something lengthy and worth reading as a standalone. Feedback, as per usual, is welcomed.