Disclaimer: Firefly and most of these characters belong to Joss Whedon. I have included some dialogue from “Out of Gas.” Mainly because it's the best hour of television ever made. Ever.

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CHECK MATE: Red Queen in play.

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2512 – January

As she brushed the last of her tears away, Inara Serra knew with absolute certainty that she would never cry for love of a man again. She would never again let a man into her heart. Better not to feel that exquisite fluttering. Better not to give in to the desire to touch, hold and have him. Better not to weave dreams around him. The House Priestess had been right all along. The life of a Companion was simpler if love were kept well out of it. She should have heeded the lessons on distancing. Now she promised herself she would revise them and practice them repeatedly until they became second nature.

The fire had died down almost completely now, leaving a pale pile of grey ashes. Not much to show for a love affair of such intensity. Letters, photographs and indeed everything he had touched. All gone now. Not merely because the ritual gave their relationship closure, but also to protect her against further investigation.

And besides, she had memorized the name and cortex address she needed.

The first light of dawn was showing blood red against the horizon. It would soon be over. By the time the sun was up, he would be dead. And she had no tears left with which to mourn his passing.

Pianhu, who had been watching from the cloisters, approached and lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. Inara turned her head to look at her and for a moment Pianhu could see the full extent of her friend's agony.

“Come,”she said softly, “The House Priestess sent me to find you.”

Inara rose from her knees and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for an instant. When she opened them again, her face was calm and composed. She gave Pianhu a small smile and followed her across the gravel courtyard and in through the ornately carved wooden entrance to the House Madrassa.

* * * * *

It was certainly an unusual request, but not one without merit. For both parties concerned. The House Priestess felt a new respect for her protegee as she looked at Inara Serra, standing patiently before her, any anxiety hidden behind a perfect smile. The House Priestess hesitated for a moment. It would be a terrible pity to lose a Companion of Inara's calibre, even for a short while. She was House Madrassa's most popular by far. At the same time, it would be most unfortunate if the House itself were to be tainted by its association with her. Nothing had been proved ofcourse, and probably never would be but, for the present, a certain distance might be desirable.

The House Priestess sighed, allowing Inara the slightest glimpse of her irritation. She had been profoundly disappointed by Inara's lack of restraint. Her lack of realism. Falling in love with a client was something one might have expected from the wilful Nandi Shang, but never from Inara. All that talent and ambition frittered away on a man. On that man.

On the surface, Inara remained serene, but she was itching for an answer. Having committed herself to the sacrament of revenge, she was impatient to put her plan into action. She forced her mind to go blank and concentrated on simply breathing.

Finally the House Priestess spoke. “We are most reluctant to allow you to leave us forever, Inara, so let us agree upon a ... sabbatical. You may take the grand tour of the central planets. A wider appreciation of different culture can only enhance your val... reputation. You may act as an autonomous Companion for a period of five years, after which time you will return to us here and we will review the situation.”

Inara lowered her eyes and dipped into a small curtsey. “Thankyou.”

“However,” the Priestess continued, “you will present yourself for annual medical check-ups at a certified hospital throughout your absence, or your registration with the Guild will lapse. Dong ma?”

“Ofcourse.”

The House Priestess dismissed her with a nod but just as Inara reached the door spoke again. “I think it best if you leave immediately. And if you clear your room of all...your personal effects.”

* * * * *

When she recalled the humiliation her interrogation, Inara's fleshed still crawled. She'd been marched off unceremoniously for questioning by five Federal agents who'd paid no heed to her position as a Registered Companion. She was all but thrown into the cell and it was clear that the coarse-featured, sweaty warden glaring at her had no more regard her than he'd have had for a common whore.

She drew herself up to her full height and held her chin high. “What is the meaning of this?”she asked, hiding her anxiety behind a haughty tone.

He sneered – that vile little man actually had the temerity to sneer - at her. “The meaning, missy, is that you're in big trouble. Been sleepin' with the enemy and now you've been caught with your knickers down.”

She gasped, rapidly realizing that whatever she thought being a Companion meant held no sway here. These people had no respect for her whatsoever. Was that new? Or had it always been the case?

“Red Doran has been bound by law and charged with espionage, conspiracy and treason. The case against him is pretty clear. All we have to do now is find out if you're a filthy Browncoat sympathizer as well.” He walked slowly over to her, his eyes slithering up and down her body like pestilent cockroaches as he approached. He stretched out a hand and cupped it under her chin. The corners of his mouth twitched, pulling the fleshy lips back into a lascivious grin. “We can make this as easy or as hard as you like.” As he uttered the word hard he thrust his groin towards her, leaving no room for doubt as to his meaning.

She had nothing to tell them other than she had had no idea that her lover had been a Browncoat spy. There was nothing on her record to refute her claim that she had supported Unification. And eventually they had to let her go.

* * * * *

2516 -August

Monty Gordon looked more like a bear than a man, Inara thought as she was shown into his tent. A big, greasy bear. He looked up from the papers spread over the desk before him and scrutinized her with knowing but kindly eyes.

She extended a hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Gordon. I'm Inara Serra.”

He grunted and took her hand, swallowing it up in his great paw. “Know who you are, girl. An' it's not Lieutenant anymore. Them days is long over. You jus' call me Monty an' we'll get along fine.” He gestured for her to take a seat. “Now why don't you tell me what it is you're wantin' with an ol' fella like me?”

“I want to help. The cause.”

Monty started and looked around nervously for prying eyes and ears. The habit was deeply ingrained. Had to play it close to the chest after the defeat. Had to use the smarts. An' all the while pretend like you di'n't have none. “The cause?” he asked, with an innocent raise of the eyebrows.

Inara leant towards him and lowered her voice. “The cause. I'm not asking you to trust me. At least, not yet. I'm offering to help. I could be useful to you. In lots of ways.”

Monty gave her a testing leer. “I'm all aware of that... Ain't seen a woman in months. Leastways, not one as fine-lookin' as you.”

Inara smiled her professional smile. “If you'd like me to service you, I'm sure we could negotiate a mutually satisfactory deal. But that wasn't what I meant.” She too looked around, then dropped her voice again. “Lieuten... Monty. I am a Registered Companion. I have something of a reputation. I have access to people and places others under your command would be shot for approaching. Powerful people. Alliance people...” She paused, letting her words sink in. “Please. Let me be useful. For Doran's sake.”

Monty tried not to show any of the emotions her use of the name roused in him. Anger. Pain. Guilt. Instead he stroked his long, straggly beard and considered. He'd known Doran had been having an affair with a Companion for some time. Should have realized there'd be more to her than that plastic sheen most of 'em had. “Well, sure can see lotsa ways you could serve the cause,” he said slowly. “But this is a dangerous business. Don't you go thinkin' they'll be soft on you jus' cos you're a woman. A fancified lady.” He paused, his expression suddenly very serious, almost menacing. “They ain't above torturin' the hell out of a female. Seen it my own self. More'n once.”

A quiver of fear surprised Inara. She clenched her hands into tight fists and used the discomfort of her long nails digging into her palms to blot it out. “I'm not afraid, Monty. I have nothing left to live for. I long for death. If I die a martyr to the cause, so much the better.”

Monty was struggling with his conscience. His mind was racing with all the possibilities suddenly opening up before him thanks to her offer. She could go anywhere. Meet with anyone. Learn their secrets. Spread lies. Undermine them from within. Gorramit! She could probably even poison the worst of 'em if need be.

On the other hand, she was a lovely young woman, little more than a girl. Her heart had been broken and she was acting on impulse out of hurt and grief. She was planning to throw all her learning, all her future – her very life – away because of love. Monty cocked his head on one side. Had to admit that Companion trainin' was ruttin' good. Looking at her sitting there – the picture of composure and serenity – you'd have never guessed at the passion drivin' her.

So he tried. Really. Monty tried. He shook his head. “You're young. You'll find somethin' to believe in. Maybe even another man.” He stood up and turned his back, aiming for the impression of determined finality. “You're no use to me. Go home. Go back to Sihnon where you belong. Time's a great healer.”

Inara's eyes flashed. She too stood up. “I'm sorry to have wasted your time, Lieutenant,” she said, enunciating each word with icy precision. “I'll go. But not to Sihnon. I've taken a sacred vow of revenge and I will find someone to help me realize it. Someone less cowardly than you.”

The accusation of cowardice hit home and Monty spun round, his fist raised ready to strike. Being a coward was something he'd accused himself many a time, having survived the war when better men had perished. But he wou'n't take it from no-one else.

Inara didn't even flinch. She held his gaze, a slight lift of her chin conveying both control and defiance. Diyu! She was a piece of work! OK then, he'd played fair. Given it to her straight. But she'd chosen not to heed.

“I'll need you mobile,” he said. “Able to reach selected targets within a certain time frame.”

She nodded eagerly.

“I'll need your silence and your discretion. Not a word of this to anyone. No-one mind,” he stressed, “not even folk you think're on our side. Could be they is. You sharin' your secrets with 'em'll only put 'em at risk. Could be they isn't...” There was no need to complete the sentence.

“And I'll need your patience.”

Inara raised an eyebrow, inviting explanation.

“Because you're too valuable a piece to be blastin' away with willy-nilly.” He opened the desk drawer and drew out a long, slim box. In response to the curiosity on her face, he opened it, revealing a pre-filled syringe. He snapped it closed quickly, cutting off the question rising to her lips. “I'll be needin' you for somethin' special.”

Inara looked down at the box as he placed it in her hands and assented with a nod.

“Good.” Monty turned back to his papers. “Now, as to mobility, that I can help with. Jus' so happens an ol' war buddy of mine'll be planetside 'bout two moons from now. Hear he's lookin' to rent out a shuttle.”

* * * * *

2516 – Late September

Malcolm Reynolds was more desperate to find someone to lease his shuttle than Inara had expected. For all his bravado, she knew a man painfully short of coin when she saw one. Despite this, he was making a valiant attempt at playing the part of a man with endless options. She smiled inwardly at his bluffing and at the ease with which she could cut through it.

“You want me.”A beat. Just enough to unsettle him. “On your ship.”

“I do?” He recovered his cool with a disbelieving smirk at her confidence.

She made reference to the respectability her presence would give to his doubtless shady operation, playing mercilessly with his all too visible physical response to her beauty and his prejudice about her profession. It was almost fun.

He responded by insulting her. Well, that was only to be expected. He didn't seem to have had much schooling. His clothing was serviceable but worn, his body language common – coarse even. Obviously a man from some deserted backwater of the galaxy living on his wits. She hoped for his sake he had more of those than met the eye.

“Fine. Let me ask you this: if you're so respectable, why are you even here? I mean, I heard tell of fancy ladies such as yourself shipping out with the big luxury liners and the like. But a registered Companion on a boat like this? What are you running from?”

What am I running from? Everything. From a life of lies that promised to give me the 'verse on a platter and instead made me its slave. From people who pretended to be my friends only to turn their backs on me at the first sign of trouble. From the little pile of ashes that is all that is left of the man I loved.

“I'm not running from anything.”

She knew he didn't believe her but he didn't press the point. Instead he changed tack, confirming her impression of him as a man who often had to think on his feet. Not a bad trait.

“If it's Alliance trouble you got, you might want to consider another ship. Some on board here fought for the Independents.”

For an instant she wanted to tell him. Let it all spill out. Now why on earth was that? Because he was as innocent as a child? Because he had an aura of solid goodness about him? Or because of those eyes....?

I can't tell him anything. I must remember the distancing lessons. Push him away. For both our sakes. Nine moons ago, Doran was still alive and besides I am on a sacred quest.

So Inara told him the worst thing about herself she could think of. “The Alliance has no quarrel with me. I supported Unification.” It was true. She had supported Unification. In the belief it would iron out the inequalities between worlds. Give everyone the same opportunities. She had been a rutting fool.

The effect her words had on Malcolm Reynolds was predictable but surprisingly hurtful. “Did ya? Well, I don't suppose you're the only whore that did.” She'd been called a whore before but by people she held in contempt. She knew she would never be friends with Captain Reynolds but she did want him to respect her.

She looked up at him and flashed him one of her dazzling smiles, the sort that reduced men to babbling piles of need. “Oh -- one further addendum. That's the last time you get to call me whore.”

“Absolutely. Never again.”

She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away confident in the knowledge that later that day he would be sending her a wave offering to lease her his spare shuttle on her terms.

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