"I'm different from other women. I accept this." Inara Serra knelt before a large candle on a lacquered wooden stand, a post really, that brought the flame level with her eyes. It was the room's only illumination, and its light did not reach the walls; she and the flame were surrounded by dimensionless darkness. "But do the differences really matter? What of the commonalities? Surely they're more important? I have a family, and plenty of friends – inside the Sisterhood and out. I have a career other women dream of, but it's not the way imagination paints it. It's an art and a profession and very challenging sometimes, and I'm skilled at it, judging by the demand I'm in and the fees I command. I even enjoy it most of the time. But repetition creeps into any job, and sometimes it's hard to work up my enthusiasm. And people would be aghast to learn how much time I spend on recordkeeping and documentation. How is it so different from being a sculptor or an architect?"

Her voice echoed off bare stone, giving some dimension to the darkness-shrouded chamber: the walls were scarcely beyond the candle's light. The flame burned steadily, wavering only when she stirred the air with a breath or a motion. There were no drafts in this room. It was situated deep within the walls of the Great House on Sihnon, as solid as the mountain into which it was dug. For generations, it had been reserved as a place of contemplation, silent and unadorned, free of all distractions. No tapestries hung from the unseen walls, and the only furnishings were the candle, the carpet on which it rested, and a few cushions to kneel upon.

She stared at the candle, and her mouth curved in a tiny smile at the irony: in a world of women who harnessed men with their own desires and steered them as they willed lay this tiny secret retreat adorned only with a phallic symbol, a shrine to male energy and power. A stylized father figure that so many of them turned to in times of doubt or restlessness. I wonder. Is it especially attractive to the third of us who never knew our fathers? Or is it the flame, the symbol of procreation and eternal life, that draws us?

She sighed, making the candle flicker. "Why should I feel this chasm between me and other women, normal women? Why can't I share more than a hint of what they feel, what they have?"

A moment of silence, then a woman's voice came from the darkness. "Because, my darling," it said in perfect classical Mandarin, "you know deep down that your notion of their lives is as fanciful as theirs of yours." The interloper stepped into the light on the other side of the candle. She was richly dressed, and resembled Inara strongly enough to be her sister – older or younger sister, it would be difficult to tell. Inara had recognized her voice the instant she spoke. "If you truly understood what they call 'normal', you'd reel in horror at the idea of sharing their fate."

Inara said in the same language, "Aliya, how long have you been here?"

"Who do you suppose lit the candle? I thought at first you saw me when you came in; there was plenty of light from the doorway before you shut it. Then when you knelt and spoke, I thought you were talking to me. By the time I realized, it seemed impolite to interrupt."

"You eavesdropped."

"Shamelessly. Yes." The woman knelt on the other side of the candle and extended her hands. "I'd given up hope you'd ever come back. But there's been no joyful reunion. We've hardly spoken the month you've been here. Everyone sees your troubled spirit. I was looking for a clue, something I might do or say to open your heart to me." The hands remained raised, gracefully upturned, waiting.

Inara sighed again and laced their fingers together, encircling the candle with their arms. "I'm sorry. It's nothing you did. You're blameless, as in all other things that lie between us."

"I wonder. Why did you leave? That business about 'expanding your client base' never made any sense to me. You could have stayed right here and been as busy as you wanted."

Inara shook her head. "Handling your overflow. But they would all have been your clients still. Ever since I began training, I've been in your shadow. Every one of my teachers watched me at my lessons and compared me to you, not that they ever would have admitted it."

"Inara, no. Shared client or not, no man could spend five minutes with you and remain detached enough to make comparisons." She smiled. "And what of your ambition to run the school here? You might have been House Madrassis by now, if you'd stayed."

"Again, only if you tired of the position and vacated it, or left on another of your little missions. That was what woke me to what I was doing, actually. A group of us were talking about our plans one day, and… one of the Sisters was unkind. She asked me if House Madrassis was a hereditary position now. That's when I realized how trapped in your footsteps I was here. If I was to be a real success as a Companion, I had to leave. I needed to be the center of my own professional world, not a guest in yours." She smiled. "Another point of commonality with normal girls. Family rivalries."

Aliya squeezed her fingers. "Tell me then. What did you come home for, if not to see me?" Eyes stared into Inara's through the flame, so alike that Inara might have been speaking with a magic mirror. "Are you hiding? Seeking refuge from an overzealous admirer, perhaps?"

"Nothing like that."

"Then, perhaps," she said quietly, "you're unsettled over having a normal woman's desire? The one desire that's forbidden you?"

Inara felt her breath grow shallow. "I was a fool to think I could come here and still keep this from you."

"Yes, but not the way you mean it. You think I can't understand your plight, but you're wrong." Aliya's voice dropped lower. "I once thought of leaving the Guild for a man. But he wouldn't have me."

"Wouldn't have you?" Inara said, incredulous. She went on, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Because of your career?" Did he call you 'whore' like it was something dirty?

The other woman shook her head a few centimeters. "No. It was his career that stood between us. We're still dear friends, though I see him seldom."

"Did you ever…"

"Don't be preposterous." A moment later: "Did you?"

"I kissed him once, when he was unconscious and I thought he was dead. No more."

Aliya smiled. "Then you've shown more restraint than I. This man of yours, is he on that capture you think you've been hiding?"

She ducked her head. "Have I been so obvious?"

"You steal glances at it far too often to keep it a secret. May I see?"

Inara let go of Aliya's hands, reached into her capacious sleeve, and passed the capture over. The woman activated it and studied the beginning of the scene, a simple meal in Serenity's galley that would turn merry as Shepherd Book began a story. As the capture panned through the room, showing the diners assembled and conversing at the table, Aliya said, "Well. Are you going to tell me which one he is, or-"

The capture slipped from her hand and fluttered towards the floor. Aliya snatched at it and caught it before it touched the carpet. "Clumsy of me. As I was saying. Do you want me to guess?" When Inara remained silent, she activated it again, smiling. "Hm. The young one in the fancy clothes is certainly handsome, but anyone could see he and the red-haired girl are together. The same for the blond in the… festive shirt, rubbing shoulders with the tall black woman. I think we can dismiss the old preacher out of hand, though he has a very nice smile." She paused the image. "The big one with the goatee is a beautiful animal, but I can't imagine thoughts of him troubling your sleep. It's the man in the work shirt and braces, isn't it?"

Inara dropped her eyes. "Malcolm Reynolds. He's the captain of Serenity, my transport."

"Oh, a ship's captain. How romantic."

"Don't tease." She shrugged. "I don't know how it happened. The man irritated me at our first meeting, but he stirred me as well. It's been like that the whole time we've known each other, a combination of dancing and sparring."

"Like swans courting." Aliya nodded. "What changed? Why did you leave him?"

"I… Something happened, something that made me question what I was doing with him. Do you remember Nandi?"

"One of the dropouts in your class, neh? The redhead with the striking eyes and no flair for music. She took up whoring, as I recall. I imagine she's very successful."

"Yes. He slept with her."

Aliya's eyes grew round. "Inara. You're jealous?"

"No. I don't know. But it's more complicated than that."

"I take it he didn't couple with her in a professional capacity."

"No."

"But how can you hold it against him, if you kept yourself unavailable? He's only a man."

"Ever since I met him, he's been calling me a whore to needle me. It's his way of telling me that any distinction between a streetwalker and a Companion is pretense. He's full of contempt for the Guild and the whole Companion mystique. As far as he's concerned, I provide sex for money, period. And if I can't accept that, if I have to surround my work with an air of glamour and mystery to market it and call it art to make it palatable, well, then, I'm a less honest sort of whore." Her shoulders slumped. "That's why what he did with Nandi matters so much. That's when he proved the sincerity of all his insults. What she did for a living didn't bother him. He could allow himself to care for her, make love to her even, because she was an honest whore." Her lashes filled with tears. "That was when I woke to what I was doing, and knew that I could never have him."

"Heavens. And his opinion matters to you? He matters to you?"

"I know he cares for me. Buddha, he once fought a duel with a man for treating me like property." She stared at Mal's image in Aliya's hands. "But he's a provincial and a romantic and he doesn't accept the Companion definition of love. My relationships with clients gnaw at him - sexual and otherwise. I don't know if even quitting the Guild would be enough to repair that rift between us." She tried to imagine what might happen the first time a former client approached her with Mal nearby, and shook her head.

Her mind cast back to their parting, such as it was, on the catwalk above the cargo hold where the others stood on the ramp, waiting. "I'll have to send for my things after I arrange for storage. The quarters at the Great House are already furnished."

"In the best of taste, I'm sure," he'd said. Then, before her temper had a chance to rise, "There's no hurry movin your things out, then." He'd changed before her eyes from a Puritan to a self-conscious schoolboy. "If we needed a second shuttle, I wouldn't have rented it. Store em here."

"At what charge?"

"No charge." His brows had pushed together. "Just give us a wave and we'll come back as soon as we can."

"Thank you," she'd said, "but 'soon as you can' might be a very long time. Just give me a day, and I'll return it just as I got it. Minus the dirt."

He hadn't reacted to her little poke, which had frightened her. "Well," he'd said finally.

"Well," she'd echoed.

He'd hesitated, as if about to say more, and she'd held her breath, not knowing if his next words would lift her heart or crush it. Do you want to ask me to stay, or bid me good riddance? Before it's too late, tell me what you really want. I'm a big girl, I can take it.

"Take care," he'd said, and turned for the stairs up to the galley.

"He cares," Inara said to her mother. "But I don't know if he cares enough."

Aliya let the capture run to its laughter-filled end and activated it again, then paused it on a closeup of Mal. "He's rather handsome, in a rugged careworn way. There are stories written on his face. Still, nothing like the rest of your stable of admirers. And you say he's a bigot."

"I didn't say that. A chauvinist, perhaps, but..."

"Let's not mince words. Surely he has some redeeming qualities, or have you acquired a taste for abuse?"

"He's playful. Passionate about his causes. Flexible in his ethics, but only to a certain point. Understated. Quirky. Stubborn as an old mule. He won't have responsibility imposed on him, but responsibilities he takes on freely, he treats very seriously. He's gentle and generous to the weak and downtrodden. He-"

Aliya held a palm up. "I'm quite sure you could go on all night. I get the idea."

"What was yours like?"

The other woman smiled. "I'm quite sure I could go on all night as well. Suffice to say he's the most fascinating man I've ever known, and has a face like an old hound."

The two women giggled a moment, and then Inara sobered. "Am I his, Mother?"

"Inara Serra. If you ever leave the Guild, I'll tell you your father's name. Until then-"

"'A Companion's heart belongs to all men, and to none'," she quoted. "I didn't really expect you to tell me."

"Back to this, then." Aliya tapped the image on the capture. "I don't want to steer your decision, but I want to be sure you've considered fully. Assume all the roadblocks are cleared away, and he'll have you. You're talking about leaving the Guild and cleaving to this man alone. Sharing his life and hardships. Bearing and raising his children, presumably without gene selection, just rolling the dice and taking what you get."

"You know I can't have children."

"Not in the usual way. Curse the doctors for that error. But there are methods, if his pride would permit." She lowered her voice. "Have you fully considered what it would be like growing old with him?"

"I understand what I'd be giving up. Of course I do," Inara whispered. "If only I could know what he's prepared to give up for me."

Aliya scoffed. "The principal difference between men and women is that a woman looks for one man who'll give her everything, and a man seeks out every woman who'll give him one thing."

"That seems a terribly cynical observation, coming from you."

"I was quoting, actually. That man friend of mine. He always was hard on himself. I wonder if yours understands himself half as well. I much doubt he knows what he's capable of giving up for you - and what he's not." Aliya stood. "It takes time to wear off, you know. He's already middle-aged. He might be dead or senile before you get your first gray hair."

Inara stood as well. "I've done my homework. But I can't be concerned about that. He lives a risky life. He could die a month from now, in a gunfight or a crash or any of a million misadventures. Buddha, he might be dead already, though I think the others would send word. If I did this, we'd live day to day. The future would just have to take care of itself."

"Darling, make no mistake. Your future together ends in death for you both. When he's gone, the Guild won't take you back."

"I know. But still I've been wrestling with the idea for months."

"Even after the business with Nandi?"

"Well…" She cast her eyes on the carpet. "Not until I came here."

Aliya nodded. "A little distance on the problem. But did his absence really allow you to see him more clearly, or just to forget what he's like?"

"You think it's a crazy idea." The world around her pressed down, and for a moment it was impossible to move or speak or even raise her head. "Of course. I should never have left. I should have -"

A gentle hand cupped her chin and raised it, and she was looking into Aliya's doe-soft eyes again. "I think that any parent is horrified by the idea of burying her child. And that's exactly what I'll have to do if you do what you're contemplating. But I've hung my toes over this same precipice, darling. And felt the same breathless wonder at the prospect of the jump. I still think he and I would have been happy together, happy enough to trade forever for." Aliya released her. "But you have to be sure. The stakes are too high."

"How can I possibly be sure?"

"You can't. Not hiding here. Go back to your ship. Face him and the issues squarely and settle them, even if it means fighting every day until you do. If you love each other, you should at least be able to talk honestly."

"Honestly. But how can I tell him about the Guild, and… everything?"

"You can't. There are too many secrets in your keeping that you're not free to share. But knowing wouldn't change the way he feels about you anyway, not if he deserves you. You have bigger issues to settle." She leaned forward. "Have you told each other, 'I love you'? Or even, 'I love you, but'?"

She couldn't speak an answer. She shook her head.

"Well, for heaven's sake, start with that. It should make the rest go easier. And if you can't get past that, if you both can't change or compromise enough to come together, tell him to go sling shit at a monkey."

Inara snorted. "Mother." Then: "What about the treatments, then? Tell him?"

"First, you mean? God, no. You don't want to share that decision with him. He'd never let you do it. Tell him about your reproductive issue at the beginning, so he knows what you both will have to do for children. But don't give him the whole story, at least until your first child is born." Aliya smiled. "If you have to, tell him while she's sleeping in his arms. It will be easier to convince him it was worth it that way."

-0-

The chamber's door closed. Alone again, Aliya heard her daughter's steps briefly patter down the hall, lighter than her mother had heard them since her return. The House Madrassis knelt again and stared into the flame, waiting for it – and her emotions - to steady. "Heavenly Father," she finally murmured in English, "thank You for the gift of my daughter, for bringing her back to me in her time of trial, for answering my prayer - the moment it left my lips! And for giving us both this second chance. But give Your servant some sign. What quirk of mischief or divine plan led You to put her on the same ship with him?"